Everything's Made To Be Broken
by blue.rose.spobette
Summary: "I've been pretending to work with Mona for almost six months. I sacrificed everything to make sure no harm came to Spencer, or her friends. I've been in the thick of everything this whole time, and I know things and have done things that I'll never be able to forget or take back." - SEASON 4 FAN FICTION. IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING 3B FINALE. TOBY/SPOBY CENTRIC.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** All right. I know I have a million things going right now that I have to finish, but I wanted to start another canon multi-chapter that can start getting us through the hiatus. I have all kinds of thoughts and theories about how Season 4 is going to play out, and I want an opportunity to explore it a bit before June. _

_As always, you guys are fantastic and I love all of you._

* * *

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming_

_Or the moment of truth in your lies_

_When everything feels like the movies_

_Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive_

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am_

**_("Iris" - Goo Goo Dolls)_**

* * *

**EVERYTHING'S MADE TO BE BROKEN**

**CHAPTER 1**

The eerie silence that befell the woods around him felt immediately ominous. It was like the proverbial calm before the storm, and some distant stinging in his gut alerted him that this was far from over.

He tried to stand, but found that his legs felt akin to Jell-O and his head throbbed at the mere notion. He collapsed back onto his chest, sending a cloud of dust right into his eyes. As if his vision weren't blurred enough from being clubbed in the back of the neck.

Right. He had been hit by something – or someone. His recollection was slowly coming back, a whirlwind of chaos poking unmercifully at his already-bruised mind.

Who had it been? Was it Mona? Though she would have been his first guess, his instincts told him he was wrong. Mona never attacked someone behind their back – she did it straight to their face. She took great pride in soaking up every ounce of credit for everything she'd ever done. This would be no different. She would _want _him to know that it was _she_ who discovered his transgressions. Would want him to _know_ where the warning was coming from.

He'd seen someone sneaking through the woods in front of him, only a few feet away. He hadn't been able to quite make out the face, but…something was familiar about it. It was someone who didn't belong there…

He turned the zippo over in his hand once more, studying the insignia. It was a cardinal compass etched onto the metal, a fixed display of directional arrows that could never truly serve the purpose the picture implied. Who did it belong to? It wasn't his, and he was pretty sure it hadn't been there before.

The sound of voices approaching was what ultimately lit the fire under his ass. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the jolting pain that seared through his head as a result, and hurried back into the cover of the night. As much as he wanted to duck behind a tree and wait to see their faces, he knew in his gut that it would be a foolish idea. He was clearly outnumbered – and they may opt to do something much worse than just knocking him out this time.

So instead, he crept his way through the expanse of trees, attempting to neglect the painful ringing in his ears that accompanied his growing migraine. When the woods began to thin out once more, he knew he was approaching a main road.

More voices – but these ones he recognized. Emily's dulcet tones floated toward him on the breeze, and he picked up his pace.

And then there was a horrified shriek, piercing the still night air on all sides of him. His heart leapt into his throat, and he feared that his assailants had caught up with the girls. Instinctively, he broke into a run.

"Hanna! Hanna, it's okay, he's alive!" Aria cried loudly, just as Toby emerged onto the street. He could see now that the girls and Mona were hovering over the trunk of a police car, and Hanna was all but inconsolable. Spencer was holding onto her tightly, stroking her hair in an attempt to comfort her.

"Help me get them out," Emily declared brashly, gesturing to Mona and Aria standing aghast beside her. The three of them leaned into the trunk, concealing the contents from Toby's view.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Toby demanded worriedly as he jogged up alongside them. Hanna peered at him incredulously from beneath her tear-soaked eyelashes, a look of terrified anger marring her features.

"I knew we couldn't trust you," she mumbled tearfully. "Mona was with _us _– it _had_ to be you – "

"Hanna, don't," Spencer began.

Under any other circumstances, he may have been offended at her cynicism. But with everything that had happened, he couldn't really blame her. He'd probably be thinking the same thing.

He stepped up beside Emily to look into the car, seeing now that Paige and Caleb had been bound and gagged and tossed unceremoniously into the back. Caleb had started to come to, his eyes roving the faces above him as if trying to make sense of their identities.

Emily and Aria had each taken Paige by one arm, slowly lifting her out of the trunk and gently setting her onto the ground. Toby took it upon himself to pull Caleb up by the armpits, carefully extracting him.

Caleb seemed to be regaining his consciousness at record speed now, his eyes widening with dazed confusion as he assessed Toby's attire. He was quickly putting the pieces of the puzzle together. He shouted something through his gag, the words of which were muffled. But Toby had the distinct impression that it was probably something derogatory aimed at him.

"We shouldn't be standing around," Mona insisted at last, wringing her hands together. "We need to get away from here."

"She's right," Toby agreed. "It isn't safe in the open."

"My house," Hanna murmured. She had calmed down considerably, and was now simply wiping away the remnants of her tears. "My mom's out of town. We'll have privacy."

Toby nodded, and leaned down to adjust his grip on Caleb. The younger boy was bucking wildly in his bindings, as if trying to fight him off. He was wasting time.

"I'm not going to hurt you!" Toby growled at last, lifting Caleb over his shoulder in a fireman carry. He was still squirming violently, using his conjoined fists to halfheartedly punch at Toby's back.

Aria and Emily had succeeded in lifting Paige to her feet, though her head still half-consciously lolled to one shoulder as they walked her toward the car. Hanna and Spencer were rushing in front of them to get the back doors open.

Toby tossed Caleb down onto the back seat, perhaps with more force than necessary, and turned around to assist with Paige. His head was pounding with more ferocity now, and he was trying to keep himself from giving in to the dizziness.

"We're not all going to fit," Mona declared. "Toby, where's your car?"

"Just around the curve," he said, and he was surprised at how tired his voice sounded all of a sudden.

"I'm going with you," Spencer decided quickly, her frightened doe eyes silently pleading for him to protect her. He wrapped an arm around her waist to indicate wordlessly that that was precisely what he would do, and her head immediately found the crook in his neck.

"Me, too," Mona announced pointedly. The intensity with which she was staring him down made him nervous for a moment, and he found himself wondering whether she had caught on to his true intentions yet.

Hanna was already climbing in the back to get Caleb untied, and Emily slipped into the driver seat with some distinct element of hesitation. Toby knew that she'd rather be making sure Paige was all right, but she understood the gravity of making a quick getaway.

Toby began walking hurriedly toward the black Navigator that didn't quite belong to him, clinging to Spencer's hand along the way.

"I never thought I'd say this," Mona began darkly, "but that wasn't me. I didn't do that."

"Well, who_ did_?" Toby demanded icily, glancing over his shoulder at the smaller girl's desperate attempt to keep up with their long strides. "Who else takes people hostage just to mess with someone?"

"Don't even start with that 'holier-than-thou' bullshit," Mona hissed. "With everything you've done, you look_ just_ as bad as I do."

He felt Spencer's eyes burning holes in the side of his head. He knew she was thinking this over, and wondering precisely _which_ A-Team horrors he had contributed to.

Once they approached the SUV stranded on the side of the road, he hopped into the driver seat. Spencer beat Mona to shot gun, a silent stand-off occurring between them as a result. Mona did not take kindly to being dethroned, and she had experienced this loss of power countless times tonight already. She was resigned to the backseat – and she positively loathed the idea, both in the literal ad metaphorical sense. In any other situation, Toby may have stopped to appreciate the comedy of the moment. Instead, he gestured wildly in her direction.

"Get _in_, Mona," he growled impatiently.

She narrowed her eyes at Spencer one last time before skulking to the back of the car and climbing in. Toby had already gunned the gas before she had completely shut the door, and she jolted back against the seat unexpectedly. She stared at his reflection incredulously in the rear-view mirror.

"What are you trying to do? Kill me?"

The thought had crossed his mind. He had considered just leaving her out here by herself.

But he didn't reply. He caught a brief smirk on Spencer's face out of his peripherals, and couldn't resist smiling a bit in return.

Mona crossed her arms irritably, huffing, "So where did _you _disappear to tonight?"

Recalling the events from a half hour or so prior made his head ache all over again. "Someone knocked me out," he said pointedly, eyeing her through the mirror.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," she muttered in annoyance. "That wasn't me, either."

"Then who was it?" he demanded. "Who else could it have been?"

"I don't know, Toby," she returned venomously. "Someone also tried to barbeque us. Who else could _that_ have been?"

He felt his heart plummet into his stomach as he realized the significance of the lighter in his pocket.

"Would you both stop it?" Spencer said at last, massaging her temples in frustration. "I was with both of you at some point tonight. I know neither of you did this. Neither of you set that fire, or planted Caleb and Paige for us to find."

There was a moment of silence that settled in the car before Mona quietly spoke up.

"Do you think it was Alison?"

"Alison?" Toby laughed derisively. "Are we really going to start blaming dead people now?"

Neither Mona nor Spencer spoke. The pregnant pause that filled the air around him made his blood run cold.

"She isn't dead," Spencer said softly. "We saw her."

"You what?" he cried. "When? Where?"

"She's Red Coat," Mona agreed in undertones.

The thought was ridiculous. Alison had been dead for over two years now – there was no possible way.

But if Toby had learned _anything _since getting out of reform school, it was that there were no coincidences in Rosewood. The impossible became possible and the inconceivable became conceivable.

"She couldn't have started the fire, though," Spencer insisted. "She was the one who pulled you out of it."

"Then who else _is_ there?" Mona snapped.

The images were coming back to Toby slowly but surely now, as he began to regain his memory of what had happened in the woods. The person he had been following was not there by accident. There had been a glint in the depths of her green eyes –

He took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, wishing suddenly that he could share his thought without Mona hearing. But in the end, they were on the same side right now. They had _all _been attacked tonight by someone – or _several_ someones – who thought they were all equally deserving of punishment.

There was another faction of people out to get them. There had to be. Something bigger than NAT. Something bigger than 'A'.

"When I was in the woods, I saw someone," he began. "Just before I got knocked out."

Spencer snapped her gaze to him, her brow creasing in confusion. "Who? Who was it, Toby?"

He gulped against the lump in his throat and chanced a glance at Mona's reflection in the rear view mirror. She, too, was on the edge of her seat, anticipating his answer.

"I…I think it might have been Jenna."

**[TO BE CONTINUED]**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** Hi guys! So here's the [tentative] plan: I'd like to aim to post a chapter at least every Tuesday, in lieu of an actual episode. This can (and probably will) change as my ideas develop and flesh themselves out. But that, for now, is my MINIMAL goal. _

_Onward!_

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

The girls and Caleb had beaten them back to Hanna's. By the time Spencer, Toby, and Mona were walking through the door, the members of the more punctual carpool were already deeply engrossed in discussion regarding the events that had just transpired only an hour prior.

"I'm telling you," Hanna insisted brashly, setting out a slew of coffee mugs with a bit more force than necessary. "It was Alison."

"It's not possible, Han," Aria countered. She was pulling various creamers out of the refrigerator to complete the illusion of the miniature barista arrangement. "We were there when they found her body. We were at the funeral. Emily watched her corpse get _dug up_."

Emily flinched in slight at this, to which Aria winced apologetically. She was sitting protectively beside a now-conscious Paige, who was holding an icepack to her temple and leaning tiredly into Emily's frame.

"And the stuff from her casket, remember?" Aria continued. "The creepy tooth fairy necklace from Hell. Ring a bell?"

"I know it sounds hard to believe, but Hanna's right," Spencer announced, marching into the Marin kitchen in a way that commanded everyone's attention. Toby was glad to see that her leadership qualities weren't entirely extinct with everything that had happened. "It was definitely Alison."

"What if it was a mask or something?" Emily insisted. "What if we were so delirious from the fire that you just _thought_ it was Alison?"

"I wasn't delirious," Spencer argued. "And I saw her. If that was a mask, those were the best damn prosthetics _I've _ever seen."

"We're not imagining things," Mona added. "It was _her_."

Aria chewed pensively on her thumbnail, leaning her elbows against the island counter. "Are we really prepared to go here, guys? To rewind the past two and a half years, like it never happened?"

There was a moment of silence in which nobody spoke. Aria continued.

"Because that's what we'd have to do. Going with the theory that Alison is alive puts us back at square one. And even _further _away from figuring anything out than we were a week ago."

Hanna threw her hands up in frustration, scoffing indignantly at Aria's words. "Well, I don't know what else to think. I saw what I saw. And unless Ali has some time-traveling alter ego, or an immortal doppelgänger…"

She trailed off. Toby ran this statement through his brain, and something clicked into place.

"What if there are two of them?" he murmured thoughtfully.

Everyone turned to him, as if forgetting he had accompanied them in the first place. Caleb eyed him suspiciously from his stance at the door wall, arms crossed over his chest. Toby was not an idiot – he knew that Caleb still didn't trust him. Half of the room probably didn't trust him. The sudden feeling of guilt overtook him for a moment, but he fought tooth and nail to push it away. There were more important things to worry about right now.

"What do you mean, _two_ of them?" Mona demanded impatiently.

He eyed her pointedly. He certainly wouldn't miss her constant condescension every time he opened his mouth to make a suggestion or share an idea.

"I mean, forget about doppelgangers, and clones, and time traveling," he said, pacing thoughtfully back and forth by the fax machine. "We have to think about what's realistic. And what's the _one way_ a person can look exactly like another person in the real world?"

"Twins," Spencer breathed. Her face indicated that she was feeling torn between being impressed and being surprised, and he knew she was kicking herself for not coming up with the idea first.

"You think Ali had a twin?" Emily demanded. "How could she? How would we not know about it?"

"Ali was a bank vault of secrets," Aria mused quietly. "If there's one thing we've learned since she died, is that we didn't know her even _half _as well as we thought we did."

"She had that alter ego – Vivian Darkbloom. She needed a disguise so that she wouldn't look like herself. She had someone sabotaging her life and trailing her every move," Spencer rambled, and Toby could tell the wheels were turning rapidly in her brain now. "We always just thought it was 'A,' but what if that's too simple? What if it was something bigger than that? Something more personal?"

Toby turned to Mona, who was standing in the corner with her arms crossed. She looked so small in her current company – something he was not accustomed to. She didn't take well to being ignored, and she certainly didn't enjoy being in the presence of a room full of people who hated her.

"Do you know anything about this?" he demanded roughly. "Anything about how long Red Coat has been terrorizing people, or why she got involved?"

"I told them already," Mona snapped. "I don't know anything."

"Oh, come on," Toby scoffed. "You mean to tell me you didn't do extra digging? Isn't that kind of your thing?"

She pursed her lips together and glared at him wildly, but did not respond. He caught a glimpse of Spencer out of his peripherals, and she looked surprised at his audacity. Truth be told, he didn't often speak to people in this tone. But Mona was a different species of 'people' all together, when push came to shove. And they had certainly had enough pushing and shoving between the two of them to last a lifetime.

"Now's not the time to be shy, Mona," he continued brashly. "If you know something, tell us."

"I. Don't. Know," she repeated, her words punctuated through her gritted teeth.

"Come to think of it…it _is_ strange that you just so happened to get caught in that fire," Hanna said waspishly, her eyes narrowed in Mona's direction. "Why would your own boss want to fry you like an egg, unless it was part of some sort of master plan?"

"A diversion," Emily agreed.

Everyone in the room was eyeing Mona with surreptitious curiosity, and she was fighting to maintain her composure.

"Listen, arson isn't my style," she huffed. "If I wanted any of you dead, I'd be much more creative about it."

"Is that supposed to be _comforting_?" Spencer replied, a look of horrified incredulity on her features.

"This isn't helping," Caleb interjected suddenly, making his presence known once more. "We need to focus. There are two very important things we need to worry about right now. One – who set that fire. And two – if what you guys saw tonight was real."

"It was _real_," Mona insisted. "The person we saw – whoever it was – was a dead ringer for Alison. Whether it's her or a twin or whatever, _we didn't imagine it_."

"Okay, but that still begs the question…" Aria began tentatively. "Which one of them is dead, and which one is Red Coat?"

There was a beat.

"There's only one way to know anything for sure," Spencer began, her face a stone wall of determination. "We need to find Jason."

* * *

It was another half hour before the girls decided to adjourn for the night, after tossing around a few ideas of how to get into contact with Jason DiLaurentis. They had decided on one particular ploy that was admittedly leaving a bad taste in Toby's mouth, even as they said their goodbyes to the others.

"I don't like this, Spencer," he grumbled in undertones the moment they slipped out Hanna's front door. "I think it's a bad idea, and I don't want you involved."

"It's fine," Spencer insisted. She did her best to exude a confident smile, despite the fact that her figure was shaking. "I'm just going to ask him to meet – "

He put a finger up to her mouth to silence her, pinning her with a poignant stare.

"Take it from someone with experience being on the other side," he began darkly. "You should probably _never_ talk about something important in the open, ever again." As if to demonstrate, he glanced over his shoulder to do a quick onceover of the hedges lining Hanna's property. Their surroundings were quiet, but that didn't mean they were alone.

She eyed him suspiciously, a worried glint in her coffee colored irises. "Did…did you…?"

"Sometimes," he said vaguely. He paused for only a moment before taking her hand to lead her to the SUV once more, unable to take another second of her probing gaze. "We'll finish the conversation when I get you home, okay?"

"All right," she agreed uncertainly. The worried tone in her voice gave him pause; there was still a multitude of questions and doubts racing through her head, and she was wary of his intentions. He couldn't blame her, but the thought stung a bit nonetheless.

He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. Her features were so beautifully accented by the moonlight that he had to fight to concentrate on what he wanted to say.

"I promise, I'll tell you anything you want know," he whispered, reaching out to brush his fingertips down the length of her jawline. "The last thing I want to do is give you a reason not to trust me again."

She smiled sadly and brought her hand to clasp his at her chin. "I know."

He lowered his face to plant a brief kiss on her forehead, wrapping her into a hug and relishing in the feeling of her body being flush with his. He could smell her shampoo, as intoxicating as it had ever been. There was more he wanted to do – more that he wanted to say. He wanted to reassure her that he loved her more than words could express. He wanted to feel her lips on his, and remember the way that she could so effortlessly remove him from everything else in the world.

But he didn't want to push her. She was still mulling things over, and he wanted to ensure that she had the appropriate time to do so before engaging in another romantic rendezvous too soon.

With some effort, he forced himself to let her go. Being apart from her only served to remind him how cold the night air was, and he suppressed the urge to shudder as he opened her car door for her. She hesitated for a moment before she climbed in, and just as he was about to make his way around to do the same, he caught a figure out of his peripherals. It was Caleb, standing at the end of the driveway with his hands in his pockets.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked. His voice was devoid of any emotion, and Toby knew immediately what he wanted.

He motioned to Spencer that he would be right back, giving her his best attempt at a comforting smile. She returned the gesture in an equally-feeble manner, and he knew what was running through her mind. She was exhausted. She wanted to go home and climb into her own bed, with him at her side, and just shut her brain off for a while. He hated to make her wait any longer, but this was clearly something that needed to be taken care of. And the sooner, the better.

He turned to Caleb and jerked his head pointedly toward the street, where they could speak alone. The younger boy understood his meaning and followed him away from the house.

"There's something you should know, and I'm going to cut right to the chase," Caleb declared, concentrating on his feet as they walked quietly down the path. "I've been spying on Mona for the past month. Tapping her phone records and her emails. Following her."

Toby knew where this was going, but he did not interrupt.

"I know you've been working with her," he stated brashly, raising his eyes to Toby's as if daring him to deny it. "I don't know how much the others know about you, but from where I'm standing, you have to understand why I'm a bit skeptical about you helping us."

Toby nodded patiently, halting a little less than a block from his car. He didn't want Spencer to be out of his line of vision. He had to be sure that she was safe in his absence. "I can't really blame you," he said honestly. "I'd feel the same way if the roles were reversed."

Caleb's eyes were burning daggers into the side of Toby's head. He pretended as though he didn't notice.

"But if there's one thing you probably missed in your research, it's the fact that I love Spencer. And I'll do anything to protect her."

There was a beat.

"Paige and I have spent the better part of the last month busting our asses to make sure the girls are safe," Caleb countered accusingly. "Meanwhile you're off running around with Mona, doing just the opposite. What am I supposed to think?"

His suspicions were well founded. Nevertheless, something awoke in the pit of Toby's stomach at this accusation – the beast of merciless determination that had been driving everything he'd done in the past several months. It reared its head when Mona challenged him…when someone threatened Spencer…and when he was feeling particularly wronged.

"I've been pretending to work with Mona for almost six months," he said roughly, looking Caleb square in the eyes. "I dropped everything in my life, Spencer included, to make sure I looked as devoted as possible. I sacrificed everything to make sure no harm came to her, or her friends. I've been in the thick of everything this whole time, and I know things and have done things that I'll never be able to forget or take back. So forgive me if your computer hacking and amateur detective work don't really impress me."

Caleb's dark eyes darted back and forth between Toby's azure ones, as if trying to formulate a viable retaliation. He seemed torn between believing his claim and being angry at his thinly veiled insult.

"Like I said," Toby continued quietly. "I will do anything to protect her. And while I understand you being a little suspicious of _how_ I've done so, _you_ need to understand why I'm a little annoyed about being lectured from someone who doesn't have the whole story."

Perhaps he was being too harsh. Maybe he was expecting too much. But after the nightmare he had lived firsthand over the past several months, he found that his patience had reduced considerably. He had needed to develop something of an exoskeleton to deflect the harsh reality of what he was immersed in, and several pieces of that armor were still present. They _had _to be – it was the only way he was going to survive the barrage of guilt he would otherwise be feeling in the midst of everyone's accusation and doubt.

Caleb took a deep breath before exhaling sharply. "I'm sorry, Toby, but it's just one of those times where I can't believe it until I see it."

The silence settled between them for a moment before Toby acknowledged this statement fully, offering a short nod in reply.

"I understand." He lowered his gaze briefly, a chill running through him as an invasive winter breeze swept by. When he brought his eyes back to Caleb's, he was surprised to see the younger boy falter a bit at his expression. "You have doubts, and it makes sense that you should. But I'm going to prove to you that I'm telling the truth. Because if we're going to be in this together, you're going to need to trust me."

There was another moment in which neither of them spoke. Both of them were digesting the other's words, carefully categorizing ambivalent feelings and attempting to make peace with their own internal struggles.

Then at long last, Caleb broke the silence.

"You show me your true colors, and I'll do my best to keep an open mind," he offered, reaching out his hand.

It would be easier said than done, of course. It could take days – weeks – _months_, even, before Caleb was willing to truly trust him. But it was about the only place they could go from here.

After a beat of hesitation, Toby accepted his gesture and provided a fervent shake.

"Deal."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:** Sorry I didn't get this up on time. As I explained on Tumblr, I accidentally spent most of the day sleeping. lol. Anyway, it's a little bit longer than the previous chapters to make up for it. As usual, if you have any questions, leave them in reviews or a PM!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

"What were you doing out there?"

He had hardly made it through the front door before Hanna was all over him like a detective in the interrogation room. She stood in the foyer with her arms crossed diligently over her chest, one perfectly-trimmed eyebrow arched into her forehead.

"There was something I had to take care of," he muttered nonchalantly, walking past her to locate the cup of coffee he'd abandoned in the kitchen before his crusade.

She was hot on his heels like a puppy with abandonment issues, and he could practically feel her eyes burning lasers into the back of his head.

"What?" he demanded self-consciously.

She was tapping her stiletto expectantly on the tile. "I'm waiting for you to be more specific."

He huffed impatiently. "Hanna, c'mon. It's nothing for you to worry about."

A noise of frustration rose in her throat. Clearly it wasn't going to be that easy to deflect her.

"Caleb, listen," she began sternly. "When I saw you in the trunk of that police car tonight…"

He turned to face her. She had averted her eyes somewhere toward the door wall at the back of the room, her lips pursed together tightly to hold back tears. Or maybe – knowing Hanna – just some inappropriate expletive.

"All I could think about was the light house," she finished pathetically. Her eyes came slowly back to his, and he saw now that they had softened considerably. "So when you go running off without telling me – like you did just now – "

"Hey, I'm sorry," he offered gently, approaching her trembling form. He slid both hands across her hips, pulling her close. She smelled like her mango hand lotion and Amaretto coffee cream, and its familiarity brought a renewed sense of serenity to his frazzled mind.

"Having all these secrets is tearing us apart," she murmured, leaning her forehead against his chin. "We have to be honest with each other. Okay?"

She was right. In fact, she was _usually_ right. He would never let _her_ know that, though. She'd never let him live it down if he confessed it.

He took a deep breath. "I was talking to Toby."

This was enough to cause her to pull her face away abruptly, her brow furrowed in concern.

"Why? About what?"

"Nothing, really," he sputtered. "I mean, I just told him that I'm not sure I trust him all that much."

Hanna stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her mouth thoughtfully as she processed this. "I'm not sure I do, either," she replied honestly. "There are so many holes in his story that I could literally play bean bag toss."

Caleb chuckled quietly. It made him feel considerably less guilty that Hanna sympathized with his uncertainty.

"Well, what did he say?" she ventured.

"Not much," Caleb said, sipping on his mug of coffee. "Just talked a lot about how he's been on the inside all this time to protect Spencer. That he doesn't blame us for not trusting him. That he'll do whatever it takes to prove that he's not like Mona."

She winced slightly, as though this was the exact opposite of what she wanted to hear. After a moment she leaned over the counter on her elbows, wringing her hands together quietly. "Maybe he's actually telling the truth," she murmured.

"Maybe," Caleb agreed distantly, shrugging. "I don't know. But I told him I'd give him a chance."

Hanna offered a sad smile, gazing at him affectionately as she reached over to take his hand. "That's one of the things I love most about you," she said candidly. "You always try to see the good in people."

"What about you?" he countered, feeling that she deserved more recognition than he did. "You took a chance on a homeless hacker and his dead beat dad."

Something flickered across her face. Pity, probably. He chose not to pay it any mind, studying the way her fingers were interlaced in his.

"If it turns out that he's telling the truth," Hanna began softly, "I'd feel terrible for not believing him."

He took a deep breath and let it out in a loud '_whoosh_'. "I know. Me too."

There was a moment of silence that settled between them. It was only a matter of time before she asked…he was still trying to prepare himself for the onslaught.

And then, as predicted, she did. "Did…did you happen to see who - ?"

"No," he interrupted. He knew the question before she had a chance to finish it. "Neither me or Paige can remember any details. Only that they were wearing a mask."

Hanna's frame went rigid, her eyes probing him nervously. "What kind of mask?"

He shook his head. "I don't really know how to describe it. It was like this burlap sack thing."

She was fumbling through her purse for her phone before he had even stopped talking. He approached her cautiously, perplexed at her sudden distress. "What? What is it?"

Her fingers were flying at warp speed as she hastily typed a text message. She didn't regard him again until she was finished, impatiently puffing a wisp of hair out of her face.

"That damn mask has followed us for years," she uttered. "Someone in that mask attacked Ali once. Then they were on the Halloween train."

He furrowed his brow. "Well, what does that mean?"

She sighed. "It means that someone is still really, really pissed at us."

* * *

His head was still throbbing. No amount of Aspirin had succeeded in quelling the pain yet, and it was starting to make him feel rather nauseated.

He wandered around Spencer's room in hopes of taking his mind off of it. She had insisted that she needed to take a quick shower before she settled in for the night, and he didn't really blame her. The events of the past couple days had been enough to make anyone feel the urge to cleanse themselves of the confusion.

His mind certainly hadn't stopped racing. Not in the past several months, in fact. The only time that it felt as though his thoughts had been reduced to a dull roar was the night in the motel room, when outside worries and stresses were finally turned on mute. She was the only person who could make him forget, even if only for a short while. A warm fuzzy feeling in his belly accompanied this memory, and he found that he could still taste her lips on his.

She had been so quick to listen. So quick to forgive. He had been expecting to spend months trying to win her back, if he was being honest with himself. It's all that he deserved, really. It would have been more than fair for her to doubt him.

The guilt had been eating him alive for the longest time. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought he was slowly dying from the inside out. The things he had had to do – the things he had had to ignore – the things he had had to pretend…

The fact that she had enough faith to hear him out helped to ease a bit of that guilt, but only in slight. It didn't erase what he had done. Not even close. He wasn't sure he'd _ever_ be able to forgive himself for the time he spent in that damn black hoodie. But at least she didn't hate him anymore – and he was sure as hell thanking his lucky stars for that.

He found himself standing at a box near the rocking chair he had handcrafted for her. At first glance, it seemed like nothing more than a collection of junk that was likely headed for the dumpster. But upon further inspection, he felt an invisible hand clamp malevolently over his heart.

Pictures of them. A plethora of shirts he had left in her possession. The Valentine's Day card he had written for her last year.

As its significance occurred to him, he felt another balloon of guilt rising in his chest. She had meant to dispose of anything that indicated they had ever been together. Eradicate his memory. Start fresh.

It was what she deserved, in truth. She owed him nothing. She would probably be better off trying to move on and forget about the blue-eyed boy that broke her heart.

"Hey, did you happen to see where I put my – ?"

She had entered the room behind him, her sentence cut short as she digested the sight before her. He didn't turn to acknowledge her, but merely picked up a framed photograph of them in the park. The glass was smooth beneath his calloused fingers, and it only served to remind him of how rough he had truly become. The boy in the picture looked lively and naïve, with no possible prescience of the events that would soon follow. Had no thought in his mind other than the fact that the girl in his arms made him so inexplicably happy that he could burst.

It had only been taken a year ago. But it already felt like a lifetime had passed since then. So much had happened…

There was a pregnant pause as the moment simmered between the two of them.

"Toby…" she began quietly, coming up beside him. She followed his gaze to the photograph, a look of guilt crossing her features. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be sorry," he said hoarsely, putting the frame back into the box as gently as he could. "You just wanted to move on."

She didn't reply. He could feel her staring at him, even with his back turned, as he slowly approached the bed to sit down. He leaned over his knees to stare at the pattern on the carpet, twisting his fingers together to sublimate some of the anxiety he was feeling. It was foolish, really, to be sad. It only made her feel that much guiltier. And that was the last thing he wanted.

He felt the mattress bounce gently as she crawled in behind him, snaking her arms around his waist and pressing her face into the back of his shoulder. He could feel her warm breath even through his t-shirt, and it provided him some semblance of comfort.

When he spoke again, his voice sounded raw. "Anything you might have thought…anything you might have done…you had every right," he murmured. "I didn't really give you any other choice."

"But I have a choice now," she whispered, using her hand to guide his chin in the direction of her eyes. "And I'm choosing to listen."

Her toffee-colored eyes were glistening with sincerity, and it was enough to make him want to cry all over again.

"I don't even know where to begin," he said honestly.

She offered a sad smile, and he knew that she understood how overwhelmed he was feeling. "Then _I'll _go first."

She began to scoot back on the bed, tugging on his arm to indicate that she wanted him to do the same. Silently, he followed her lead, lying on his side to face her. The scent of her shampoo was imbedded into the fibers of her pillowcase, and he found his heart fluttering with memories of their many embraces in this very room.

Her beauty was unprecedented, the way she curled up beside him, her hair pooling out to frame her face. He was resisting the very powerful urge to kiss her. She seemed to be thinking something similar, for her eyes darted downward to avoid his gaze.

"When did it all start?" she asked quietly.

He chuckled darkly. It sounded like such an easy question, but in truth, it was just as complicated as everything else.

"The first time I heard from 'A' was after Homecoming," he began. "I got a text message with a photo attached of me dropping Emily off at the hospital. It said, 'why save her when she wouldn't save you?'"

Spencer gulped, but did not interrupt.

"The next time was a few months later. After I found the hockey stick," he recalled. "Another picture. 'A' – Mona, I guess – was threatening to send it to the police. When I didn't bite, my brake lines got severed."

"It _was_ her," Spencer breathed irritably, her eyes flashing in indignation. "That pretentious little – "

"Not so fast," he interrupted gently. "Some of the things I did weren't much better."

She fought to keep her face impassive, but he saw the hint of fear that fluttered across it.

He sighed. "The last time was right after the scaffolding incident. Mona came to see me in the hospital. She – she told me stuff about you and Wren."

She flinched in slight.

"I was on so much medication that a lot of it is a blur now," he rambled. "But the way she was talking about you – about all of you – I started to put the pieces together. I started to realize what you were so afraid of. So I told her I wanted in."

Her eyes fluttered away at this, and he knew she was unsure of what to think. He slid his hand across the bed to lace his fingers through hers, and was startled to find that she was trembling.

"I did what she told me, but I was always working against her at the same time. There were subtle things I tried to do without her knowing. She wanted me to get Dr. Sullivan back into town, and I did. But what she doesn't know is that I was in touch with Dr. Sullivan long before that. I had sent her an anonymous tip about Mona."

"She tried to meet with us," Spencer said breathlessly. "She said she had figured it out."

Toby nodded resolutely. "Mona had her office tapped. She was on it before Dr. Sullivan knew what was happening."

A moment of silence settled as Spencer digested this.

"What else did you do?" she whispered.

"I called Emily at the cabin," he started. "To warn her about Nate."

"She told me about that phone call," she said thoughtfully, her eyes widening in realization. "You were trying to protect her."

He squeezed her hand gently to confirm this.

"I – I let Lucas leave town. I lied to Mona and said he got away. He found me out right from the start…he said he could see the pain in my eyes every time Mona sent me on a mission."

Spencer gazed at him thoughtfully but did not reply.

"It went right over her head though, I think," he continued. "She isn't really in tune with human emotion."

"Yeah, not exactly," Spencer mumbled sarcastically.

"I know they're little things," he muttered, feeling pathetic. "But I couldn't stand to see you suffer any more than necessary."

Her eyes were darting back and forth between his, as if trying to read his expression. He didn't mind. He was trying to be as transparent as possible, for her benefit.

"What about our anniversary?" she whispered nervously. "Why didn't you let me in?"

He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"When – I mean, after I saw you in my kitchen," she murmured. "I came to your loft a while later. I was upset, and I was crying, trying to talk to you through the door…"

His face seemed to give away his confusion, for she trailed off, understanding dawning on her features. He, too, was doing the math in his head.

"I left town right away," he said desperately. "I literally didn't stop for anything."

"But I saw someone through the blinds," Spencer sputtered. "A – a shadow. And there was classical music playing. Bach, to be exact."

He inhaled sharply. Suddenly, he felt quite sick.

"I gave Mona my keys before I left," he grumbled. "She always played Bach at headquarters…"

That little bitch.

He sat up quickly to fight the bile back down, running his hand over his mouth in silent fury. The thought of Mona sitting there silently, probably with a bucket of popcorn, listening to Spencer sobbing on the stairs…

"Hey," Spencer said gently, sitting up to grasp at his shoulders. "It's okay. It isn't your fault."

"I would have never left you out there," he insisted raspily. "I – I don't know what I would have done, but I would have found a way to do it."

"I know," she said, pressing her mouth against his shoulder in a soothing kiss. She allowed her mouth to linger there, face pressed against him, as though she thought he would fall apart if she let go of him.

He felt his anger begin to dissipate as her touch sunk in, its undeniable comfort coursing through his veins. They sat quietly like that for a few minutes, allowing everything to sink in. He was feeling considerably more exhausted than he had even twenty minutes ago, and found that it was becoming difficult to keep his eyes open.

But as his hand brushed up against his pocket, he remembered that there was one more thing he had to tell her.

"I found this," he started quietly, unearthing it from his jeans. "It was next to me when I woke up in the woods."

She took hold of it quietly, turning it over in her hands to study the insignia. "It's a compass," she said. "What does that mean?"

He shrugged pathetically, watching as she studied it with her usual fiery intensity. It was obvious when the worst part occurred to her – it was like a light bulb had gone off above her head, and her free hand flew to her mouth.

"Is this what started the fire?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "But knowing everything we've been through, I have a hard time accepting that it's only a coincidence."

There was a beat. And then she was practically diving across the bed toward her nightstand, yanking open the drawer to toss the lighter in like it had burned her.

Panic rose in his chest. "Spencer, you can't – "

"I'm not going to let you take the fall for this," she interrupted. "Not another fire. Not this time."

Her loyalty never failed to amaze him. It was one of the primary reasons he had fallen in love with her in the first place.

"I can't let you keep evidence in your house," he reasoned. "Here. Give it back. I'll take care of it."

Her eyes were studying his surreptitiously, as though trying to determine whose idea was better. Then, at long last, she pulled it back out and replaced it in his palm.

"Get rid of it, as soon as you can," she said hastily. "Drop it in the tributary, or wipe it clean of fingerprints and throw it out into a field, or run it over with your car, or – "

She stopped abruptly when he put his hand on her knee; he found himself unable to prevent the amused smile from curling across his mouth. "Relax, Spencer."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her head bobbing up and down intensely as she nodded. "Relax. Right."

"Now," he began, opting to change the subject. "About this Jason thing…"

Her eyes rolled melodramatically as she groaned. "I told you. It's not a big deal. I just have to get in touch with him – meet up with him – and get to the bottom of this."

"But if he's being tracked, I don't want you caught in the crossfire," Toby argued. "Somebody clearly wants him dead."

Something tangential but pertinent seemed to occur to her, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "How did you – ?"

"Mona had me spring him from the hospital to help him go into hiding," Toby replied, knowing the end of her question before she had even asked it.

Her face scrunched up in utter perplexity. "Why would Mona help Jason?"

"Because," he started patiently, "the NAT club had some kind of treaty, I guess you could call it, with Mona. We looked out for each other."

She brought her legs to her chest as she considered this, pressing her cheek against her knee. "Did Jason know about you?"

He pursed his lips together guiltily, but said nothing.

"Why wouldn't he tell me?" she asked distantly. He had the distinct impression that it was more of a thought that had been turned outward, rather than a direct question.

"Did you ever give him a chance?" he ventured uncertainly. If he knew Spencer half as well as he thought he did, she had probably alienated everyone in Rosewood when she needed them most.

She quirked her eyebrow, as if to silently acknowledge the validity of his point.

"Listen, can we finish talking about this tomorrow?" he requested quietly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "My head is killing me."

She nodded resolutely. "Yeah. Yeah, mine too."

"All right," he said, rising to his feet. "I'll call you in the morning?"

Panic spread across her features, her eyes wide as saucers. "You're leaving?"

"You should get some rest," he reasoned gently.

She shook her head vehemently, her hair flying wildly around her face. "No. Please don't go."

There were very few occasions where he had seen her this frightened, and it was truly sobering. He had already vowed to himself that he would never be the person to incite a reaction like that in her, ever again.

He slowly lowered himself back down next to her, studying the way that her eyes flickered back and forth between his in quiet desperation. "You want me to stay? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she said immediately. "I – I can't be by myself. Not tonight."

He offered her a small smile, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on her forehead. Her skin was so smooth against his chapped lips that he had another momentary flashback of the night before, her silken legs sliding across his.

"All right. Let me go to the bathroom and I'll be right back."

"You promise?" she asked in a small voice that sounded more like a child than a seventeen year old.

"_Promise,_ promise," he said confidently. He stood once more and made his way out the door, glancing over his shoulder at her one last time before stepping into the hallway.

The conversation had lifted his spirits considerably, despite how exhausted he felt. At least she had some of the answers she had been hoping for – and he felt much better having her know them. There was still so much to talk about, of course. But for now, both of them were content enough to turn in for the night and save it for another day.

He was still baffled by his undeserved luck. Even after everything he had told her, she still wanted him to stay the night. Still trusted him to protect her, even in slumber. He wasn't sure what he had done right to truly earn that back, but he was determined to prove to her that he was worthy nonetheless. Perhaps there _was_ some merciful God looking down on him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a voice down the stairs, and he stopped in his tracks. Spencer had said she was the only one home.

He glanced suspiciously over his shoulder before making his way to the edge of the staircase, concentrating on the source of the conversation. It sounded one-sided – like someone was on the phone.

"No, no, no. No matter what happens, you cannot see her."

Melissa. She had raised her voice just enough for him to catch her words more clearly.

There was a pause.

"No! She's going to ask questions, and I guarantee you that you won't want to answer them…Of course I understand you're worried about her! Nobody understands that better than me! But that's no reason to put yourself in a position where – "

Toby's weight had caused the top step to creak, and she stopped abruptly. Heart fluttering wildly in his chest, he began to quickly back up and hurry into the bathroom. Once the door was closed behind him, he took a moment to release a very shaky, very anxious breath.

Who was she talking to? Jason? Had she overheard his and Spencer's conversation about going to talk to him?

He fumbled with the lighter in his pocket, wondering just how much Melissa knew. Why would she want to stop Spencer from seeing her own brother? Why would it matter to her, unless there was something more important at risk?

He sighed deeply, finding that his head had started to throb once more.

And he had the distinct impression that it wasn't going to stop until he had some answers.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:** This one is a tad shorter than the others, and for that I apologize. I wanted to make sure I got something up before midnight though. Please let me know if there were any spoilers/plot lines you were interested in seeing explored. I can't guarantee that I'll visit all of them, but I'd love to hear your feedback. _

_As usual, I love all of you. I hope you enjoy the chapter!_

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

Nothing puts a crazy weekend in perspective quite like the unceremonious return to mundane practices. With everything that had happened as of late, school was one of the last things on Spencer's mind, for once in her life. Her grades had been suffering for weeks as it was; her reunion with Toby was the sobering-up she had needed to put her priorities in order once more. She was going to be playing catch-up until the end of the card marking if she had any hope of getting back on the honor roll.

But with dead friends returning mysteriously to the land of the living and enemies that knew no bounds, it was difficult for even Rosewood's best and brightest to concentrate adequately on something as comparably foolish as an essay on the Civil War.

Hell, she had been _living_ a modern-day Civil War for the past year and a half.

So when lunchtime came and she could reconvene with her friends, she felt a considerable degree of relief.

"Hanna," she said reproachfully, watching her friend mindlessly stir her salad for the hundredth time. "You really need to eat something."

"I can't," Hanna grumbled. "My stomach is in knots. I feel like I have a hangover but never even made it to the party."

"I'll second that," Emily muttered, pushing her half-eaten sandwich aside.

Aria, however, seemed to be stuck on the conversation that had been transpiring prior to crash course dieting lectures. "So, Toby just found the lighter next to him when he woke up? Is someone trying to frame him?"

"I don't know," Spencer answered earnestly. "I mean, that's all_ I_ can think of."

"Who would do something like that?" she pondered.

"Toby isn't exactly Mr. Popular," Hanna said, rolling her eyes. "He only has, like, two friends. Everyone else hates him because they still think he killed Alison."

There was an awkward pause that followed. Spencer straightened her back and folded her hands together, subconsciously gearing up for a fight she did not want to have.

"So there are only two people in the world who trust him?" she said icily, glancing at Emily pointedly before staring Hanna down once more. She was not stupid – she could do this very basic math very quickly.

Hanna slouched her shoulders dejectedly, but continued to avoid Spencer's accusatory glare. "I just think it's really hard to know exactly what he's been doing all this time. He could have enemies that we don't even know about."

"Toby didn't do anything that we wouldn't have done in the same position," Emily challenged. "We've all done things we're not proud of, just to get 'A' off our backs. We have no room to judge anyone else for doing the same thing."

"Yeah, Hanna," Spencer began coldly. "Remember that time you almost sold out Aria and Ezra to save your mom?"

"Guys, guys…stop," Aria commanded, holding one hand out in Spencer's direction and another in Hanna's, as if this would prevent them from lunging at one another. "Starving lobsters in a tank, remember?"

Spencer sent one last disapproving glance in Hanna's direction before metaphorically stepping down, leaning back against her chair in defeat. Aria was right. Turning against each other had always been exactly what 'A' wanted.

"I'm sorry, Spence," Hanna said, rubbing her hand across her forehead tiredly. "It's just…not all of us know Toby as well as you and Emily do. We can't help but…you know…wonder."

As half-hearted as Hanna's delivery was, Spencer could see her perspective a bit better from this angle. It was true – Hanna and Aria had barely interacted with Toby, ever. They would need more proof before they could blindly trust his intentions.

"I'm sorry, too," she muttered.

"See?" Aria chirped. "Was that so hard?"

"Was what so hard?"

The four turned abruptly to the source of this new, chipper voice. Spencer felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach as Mona pulled up a chair next to Emily, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. She regarded their bemused expressions with a wide smile before taking a sip of her water bottle.

"Oh! Hanna! There's a sale at Sak's today," she began, as if forgetting the fact she had already asked something else. "There are these new Tory Burch boots that I have just _got _to have. Come with?"

"I'm sorry," Hanna snapped, "I must have missed the part where we went back to being BFFs after you tried to kill us."

If the statement affected Mona, it did not show. She merely cocked her head at Hanna and giggled quietly to herself, as though she'd made a joke.

"You know what they say about bygones," she declared, waving her hand dismissively.

"We're all you have now," Spencer assessed, her eyes burning daggers into the side of Mona's head. "You lost your position of power and you have no one else to turn to."

Mona rolled her eyes coyly. "Oh, Spencer. Always starting the race before the gun goes off."

"You are the last person in the world who is allowed to talk about firearms," Hanna barked. She pierced a pile of lettuce with her fork and shoveled it into her mouth, as though eating were suddenly the only thing keeping her hands from encircling Mona's tiny neck.

"What do you want, Mona?" Emily asked flatly.

The smaller girl shrugged happily. "Just thought I'd have lunch with my besties. Is that too much to ask?"

"From you, yes," said another new voice, this one with much more baritone than anyone else at the table.

"Caleb," Mona chirped immediately. "How nice to see you. How's your dad doing?"

Caleb's jaw twitched ferociously at the thinly veiled jab, leaning over the table to pierce her with a warning gaze.

"He's good. How are _the voices in your head_ doing?"

"Caleb," Hanna mumbled with half-hearted disapproval, tugging on his arm to pull him down into the seat beside her. There was a silent staring contest going on between him and Mona, which nobody dared to interrupt.

This was perhaps the first time Mona had reacted with anything other than cool collectedness. Her face was an expression of stone, one eyebrow cocked competitively in his direction.

"I'd be very careful about rubbing me the wrong way, if I were you," she said quietly. "After all, I'm the only one who has all the answers you don't know you need."

"We've heard it all before," Aria said, her lips pressed into a thin line. "It's just your bargaining chip. You won't actually help us with anything, unless there's something in it for you."

A forced smile tugged at the corners of Mona's mouth, but did not quite reach her eyes. She rested her chin delicately in her hands, carefully eyeing all of her tablemates one at a time.

"Perhaps. But ask yourselves this: what would you pay to know what I know?"

There was a thoughtful silence that befell the table, before Spencer made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.

"Stop with the 'A' riddles," she growled, pushing the peas around on her lunch platter irritably with her fork. "You have our attention, okay?"

Mona sat up straight, her face a mask of unabashed joy once more. "Lovely," she chirped. "Now if you'll all excuse me, I have to go powder my nose before Physics."

She stood from the table and practically skipped away, leaving the remaining five to stare after her retreating figure.

"Does anyone else feel dirty?" Aria said, shivering visibly. "Like we just whored ourselves out for information we may never get?"

"I wish I was a mind reader," Hanna declared, narrowing her eyes in the direction that Mona had disappeared in. "I could just take what I needed and push her off another cliff."

The other four turned to look at her, aghast.

"What?" she snapped. "Oh, come on, I'm not the only one thinking it."

Spencer sighed heavily, massaging her temples with both hands. "Either way, she has one thing right: she knows more than any of us do. And if we have to put up with her for a while in order to figure any of that out, it's worth it. So let's all agree to suck it up, put on a fake smile just like hers, and give her what she wants."

The three girls nodded in silent agreement, but Caleb still looked defiantly unconvinced.

"And let her win at her own sick game? No. She's just using us," he argued.

The women exchanged a look, which did not go unnoticed by a flustered Caleb.

"What?" he demanded.

"Sweetie," Hanna started gently, patting him on the hand and glancing in Spencer's direction, "we're just using her, too."

* * *

If there were any place in Rosewood that Toby would rather gauge his eyes out than visit, it was his parents' house. He had spent months trying to earn enough money to get himself the hell out of there, and the thought of going back literally made his skin crawl.

But his father and stepmother were out of town, and Jenna was at school. It was the most opportune place and time to investigate Jenna's transgressions, and he wanted to ensure that it was done before she caught on that he suspected anything.

It was like being back in a war zone after having escaped once unscathed. He felt the familiar pang of anxiety rising in his chest as he meticulously searched her room, trying his damnedest not to leave any traces of his presence behind. This was easier said than done, however. Jenna was the sort who held onto a lot of knick-knacks and useless junk, and it was hard to ensure that everything went back in the precise place he had found it.

He rifled through a box under her desk, only to find endless amounts of photographs. She had taken a particular liking to capturing even the most random of moments since her sight had returned. It was a way of guaranteeing that every visual experience she had was preserved for posterity to look back on; a reminder that she had actually seen something's beauty and had not merely conjured it with sightless imagination.

He was ready to give up on the box and push it out of the way when one particular picture caught his eye. It was from her birthday party at The Brew. He did a double take.

She was standing with Darren Wilden and Shana, the costume shop girl.

The oddity of this trio occurred to him only briefly, before he remembered Spencer telling him about the security footage running in the police car. She clearly had some sort of interest in keeping Wilden alive – what that motive was, however, remained to be seen. He silently stuffed the photo into his back pocket, just in case it could be used to incriminate her later.

He continued searching the room for another half hour or so, growing more discouraged by the minute. At long last he collapsed into a sitting position on her bed, leaning over his knees and cradling his head in concentration. If he were Jenna…where would he keep something important? Under the mattress? Nope, he had checked. In a secret drawer compartment? Negative – he'd already tested every last one to see if such a hiding spot existed.

The only thing that made sense was that anything she deemed of value would be on her person at all times. She would not risk it being found.

He started feeling suddenly foolish for thinking he could outsmart her in the first place. Jenna was accustomed to secrecy better than anyone he knew. She would not just leave her most precious possessions lying around for anyone to find…especially not someone who knew her as well and hated her as much as Toby did. She would put them somewhere that no one dared to touch – somewhere that nobody would even think of invading. Somewhere that she knew even _he_ would not risk looking.

And then, one last idea occurred to him. He glanced in the direction of the window, feeling that surge of adrenaline that he'd been suppressing starting to rise up once more. What if…?

He was on his feet in an instant, marching toward her display of snow globes. They were her pride and joy, and it had been made clear to absolutely everyone who had ever lived under this roof that they were not to be tampered with. Toby had spent so much time being terrified of even _looking_ at them the wrong way that he never considered there may be more to them than met the eye.

He searched around a few, lifting them up, shaking them, and setting them back down in the exact dust circle that they belonged. He did this several times, and after a minute or so feared that this, too, was a bust. He absent-mindedly giving the Cape May one a firm whirl – and something made a clattering noise inside.

Curiously, he turned it over and found that the felt lining on the bottom was pulled loose. When he tugged it open, a flash drive tumbled out to his feet.

He froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. Should he take it? What if she checked for it when she got home?

And then it hit him. He knew precisely what to replace it with.

Moments later he was pulling the front door closed behind him, taking the porch steps down two at a time, when his cell phone buzzed quietly in his pocket. He waited until he was seated comfortably in the SUV before reaching for it. The number was blocked, but he knew immediately who it was from.

_We need to talk. You know where to meet. I would say come alone, but I know you won't. Be careful who you talk to. – Boba Fett. _

He chuckled quietly to himself at the nickname he'd given him. It seemed almost bittersweet to hear it again.

Lucas Gottesman was back in town.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:**__ Sorry I'm a couple hours late today! Tuesday is apparently my unofficial nap day. I don't know what it is about this day every week that makes me want to pass out the second I walk through the door. _

_I won't belabor this any longer. _

_See A/N at the end of the chapter. It's rather lengthy this week, and I didn't want to take up your time at the beginning! _

* * *

**EVERYTHING'S MADE TO BE BROKEN**

**CHAPTER 5**

Toby ran a weary hand over his mouth, trying to wrack his brain. The computer screen was starting to swim incomprehensibly before his very eyes, having been taunting him for the better part of the last hour. The asinine text box hovered in the center of the display, its black cursor blinking in time with the ticking of the clock above the shelf.

Leave it to Jenna to encrypt a damn flash drive with a password.

He had tried every combination of initials and birthdates and random interests that he could think of. The surreptitiousness with which the drive had been encoded was beginning to incite a mild panic in the depths of his chest, alerting him that whatever he was going to find was something that she intended for nobody to ever see. He had just assumed that it would be loaded with information that she, and she alone, deemed private and valuable, of no consequence to anyone other than her.

He was starting to feel that whatever was hidden in this tiny piece of plastic was far more crucial than he had previously anticipated.

He was so lost in concentration that when the front door of the loft flew open, it literally caused him to jump in alarm.

"I'm here, I got your text," Caleb declared breathlessly, as though he had run the entire way from school.

"Thanks for coming," said Toby earnestly. It had cost him a certain degree of dignity to ask for his help, especially considering their recent talk. Toby painfully recalled saying something rather insulting about Caleb's particular skill set and now here he was: tail between his legs, asking sheepishly for the younger to utilize these exact talents.

Caleb simply offered a short nod before he dumped his book bag unceremoniously at the counter, settling onto a bar stool beside Toby to peer at the laptop. "What are we looking at?"

"Flash drive I found in Jenna's room," Toby responded immediately. No use in beating around the bush. If they were going to learn to trust one another, he was going to have to be completely transparent about his intentions. He peered at Caleb from the corners of his eyes, clearing his throat nervously. "Does Hanna know you're here?"

"No, you asked me not to tell her," Caleb replied, rolling up his sleeves as if to prep for a very careful surgical procedure. "Can't get past the password, huh?"

Toby clamped his hands onto the countertop to stretch backward, arching his aching spine and rolling his neck a bit. "No idea where to even start," he answered with blatant self-degradation. "This isn't exactly my area of expertise."

Caleb appeared to be attempting to hide a smirk as he turned the computer to face him, fingers working diligently at the keyboard. "Sometimes these amateur hacking skills come in handy, don't they?"

If Toby were the blushing type, he was sure his complexion would have rivaled the scarlet t-shirt he was wearing. "Do you think you can crack it?"

"I never met a firewall I couldn't get around, if that's what you're asking," Caleb chuckled. "A flash drive should be a piece of cake." His eyes flickered from the screen to his backpack, at which he jerked his head pointedly. "There's a blue notebook in the front pocket. Can you grab it for me?"

Toby did not need to be told twice. He was striding toward the bag before Caleb even finished talking, retrieving it from said location. He grabbed the pen shoved beside it for good measure, assuming some sort of writing utensil would be necessary to pair it with.

"Thanks," Caleb muttered, flipping to a blank page and clicking the pen thoughtfully. "What have you tried so far?"

Toby sighed tiredly, leaning over the countertop beside the younger boy. "Her name. Initials. Birthdate. Combinations of all the above."

"All right," Caleb mumbled, more to himself than Toby, jotting down this information faster than Toby could even think through it. "Jenna Marie Marshall…October 10th, 1994, right?"

"Yeah," replied Toby, unable to hide his impressed surprise. "How did you know that?"

Caleb turned to him, a mischievous grin dancing into his expression. "I like to keep a close eye on my enemies."

Toby nodded uncertainly, unsure of whether this comment was laced with the subliminal meaning he was suspecting.

Caleb turned back to his notebook, his face still a mask of utter amusement. "Toby James Cavanaugh. January 22nd, 1993."

Toby inhaled sharply, his previous internal allegations confirmed. "Impressive."

"I try."

Toby watched in silence for the next several minutes as Caleb's pen whirled wildly across the lines of the paper, creating various anagrams and cryptograms and Instagrams and whatever else the science of mixing letters and numbers strategically was called. Periodically he would glance up from the notebook to try typing one of the combinations into the text box on the computer screen, mumbling incoherently to himself as he crossed the failed attempt out with a bold line of ink.

"It's got to be something that has meaning to her," he muttered quietly. "Something that she doesn't think anyone could figure out."

This was more than likely true, but where to begin, Toby was unsure.

They continued in silence for some indiscernible length of time, trying to come up with various interests or values that would merit a password dedicated to its meaning. Caleb was mumbling something about favorite authors and song lyrics when the chime of Toby's phone shook them from their concentration.

Toby pulled it from his jeans, acutely aware of Caleb's curious gaze, reading the incoming text message silently to himself.

_Ready. Fifteen minutes. You know where. – Boba Fett._

Toby cleared his throat purposefully, fumbling with the phone absent-mindedly. "Hey, uh, how much longer is this going to take?"

Caleb scoffed with an air of impatient indignation, staring Toby down with a deadpan expression. "I'm sorry, is this a timed test?"

"No, no," replied Toby hastily. "I just – I have something I need to take care of."

Caleb's brow furrowed in morbid curiosity, and he seemed to be silently challenging the elder. "What's more important than this?"

Toby tapped the side of his phone anxiously, unsure of whether or not Lucas would want Caleb privy to his whereabouts.

"It's…um…"

"Private?" Caleb snapped.

There was a pregnant pause in which they had a silent face-off. Toby could feel his own jaw twitching in nervous guilt as the raven-haired boy assessed the depths of his eyes.

Then, at last, Caleb exhaled heavily. "Fine. Do what you have to do." And with that, he turned back to the computer to continue his previous task.

Toby curled his free hand into an involuntary fist, finding himself suddenly frustrated by Caleb's nonchalance. Mind games. Fucking mind games. He was no better than a woman trying to expertly manipulate incriminating information out of a duplicitous husband.

He had the sneaking suspicion that this was a trick he'd subconsciously picked up from Hanna, not even realizing that he had incorporated it into his own daily life.

Toby had promised to be clear about all of his motives. Had ensured Caleb that he would have every one of his true colors on display at all times, making dangerous secrets a thing of the past.

So as much as it pained him to let Caleb win this round, he knew what had to be done.

He sighed melodramatically, handing the phone to the hacker in front of him. The younger straightened his posture, as if to indicate some air of victory, as he reached out to take it.

"Boba Fett?" he demanded incredulously. "Who's Boba Fett?"

Toby pursed his mouth into a thin line, piercing Caleb with what he hoped was at least a mildly intimidating glare. He was all about keeping the channel of communication open with as much transparency as possible, but Caleb's tone of voice was striking him as rather unnecessary.

"Come with me and I'll show you."

* * *

Toby knew exactly where to find Lucas.

It was the last place Mona ever would have suspected, as it didn't particularly scream 'secret' or 'private.' It represented exactly the opposite, in fact: a place where rumors and gossip ran rampant, and nothing anyone ever did or said could be trusted to remain under wraps for long.

Toby and Lucas had taken to orchestrating extra-curricular meetings there outside of the usual A-Team schedule. Each of them had ulterior motives in assisting Mona, and it was in this secret location that they would discuss the finer nuances of keeping Spencer and Hanna as safe as possible.

Caleb, however, was getting to be rather annoying with his constant questions. On the one hand, Toby couldn't exactly blame him: he was trying to ensure that he was not walking into a dangerous trap, after which he would be bound and gagged and tossed into another car trunk.

But on the other, it was getting kind of irritating to entertain Caleb's impatient curiosity. He had allowed him to tag along for one reason, and one reason only: to show him that he could be trusted. The third degree that had ensued was somewhat insulting, in that regard.

They were rounding the corner of building when Caleb began to prattle on once more.

"Why are we at the school? Don't they have security cameras? Won't they know we were out here?"

"No cameras around back," Toby explained impatiently. "We've been doing this for months. Trust me."

Caleb huffed quietly to himself, but did not argue further. He followed Toby's lead and squeezed through a line of decorative hedges, cursing loudly as he unwittingly scraped his hand against its sharp branches. The two were slinking undetectably into the shadows, out of the reach of the streetlights, when a third voice spoke.

"I knew you wouldn't come alone."

The baby-faced boy was leaning back against the brick wall with his arms crossed casually, the spotlight of the moon illuminating an amused smile in his expression.

"Lucas?" Caleb declared in alarm. His dark eyes flickered back and forth between Toby and his previous roommate, at an unprecedented loss for words.

"Nice to see you, Caleb," said Lucas genuinely. He pushed himself off the building to approach Toby, unearthing a rolled up manila envelope from his back pocket. "I did some digging, like you asked. I think this is what you're looking for."

Toby balked at the statement, impressed. "Wow, Lucas, that was fast."

Lucas waved a dismissive hand in the air between them, shuffling his feet bashfully. "No sweat."

The eldest reached out to take hold of the proffered information, sliding a finger beneath the brown flap. Lucas shot a hand forward to stay Toby's movements, a dark warning in his eyes.

"Not here," he hissed.

Toby furrowed his brow, unsure of what he was driving at. Nobody knew about this meeting place. He was sure of it. "What do you mean?"

Lucas glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder before his eyes returned to the larger man's face, an expression of careful concern lining his features.

"I'm pretty sure someone was following me earlier tonight," he muttered. "Just watch your back, all right?"

Toby nodded resolutely, a sudden shiver tickling the length of his spine. He glanced briefly to each side, as if this unconfirmed phantom would leap out at any moment.

"Was it hard to get hold of?" he whispered.

Lucas shook his head, eyebrows traveling up his forehead in a way that indicated he hadn't had any problems. "Not at all."

Toby nodded approvingly, rolling the envelope back up once more and shoving it into his coat pocket. "Thanks, man. I think this will give us some of the answers we need."

Lucas dove his hands into the pockets of his jeans pensively, his head cocked in Toby's direction. "I'm glad things are better for you now," he said quietly.

The statement was rather innocuous, in and of itself. It could have meant anything. But Toby knew precisely what Lucas was referring to.

He offered a somber smile in return, clapping a large hand over Lucas's tiny shoulder. "I'm gonna take care of it. You'll be able to come back soon. Okay?"

Lucas nodded quietly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Don't let Mona hear you say that, or we'll have to stage another high speed skateboard-SUV chase to throw her off the scent."

Toby smiled in spite of himself. The last time the petite girl had begun to suspect the nature of their allegiance, they had had to make a show of convincing her that her fears were unfounded. And she had bought it – hook, line, and sinker.

He had almost forgotten about Caleb's presence entirely until he spoke up from behind him.

"Where are you going?" he asked meekly.

Lucas provided a long, drawn-out shrug in reply. "Back to my aunt's, maybe. Maybe my grandparents', this time. Rosewood just isn't safe for me right now."

Caleb nodded in hesitant agreement, and Toby came to the sudden conclusion that he was sad to see him go. It seemed like such a long time ago that Caleb and Lucas had begun to bond that Toby had almost forgotten about their friendship entirely.

And it was probably rather sobering for Caleb to see a trusted friend interacting with someone he still had suspicions about.

The moment gave him pause, and he felt a quiet stinging in his heart on Caleb's behalf.

Lucas stepped forward to shake Caleb's hand amiably, a similar expression present deep in his eyes. He seemed to be reading Caleb's internal struggle, smiling a bit as he spoke.

"Be safe. Toby has your back, okay?"

Toby did not look up to acknowledge this statement, instead keeping his gaze trained modestly on the grass at his feet. He could still feel, however, the pointed way in which Caleb was staring into the side of his head.

"Take care of yourself, Lucas," Caleb said softly.

Lucas shuffled in Toby's direction, holding out his fist in quiet expectation. Toby rapped his knuckles gently against his friend's in a silent gesture of camaraderie.

"If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it's you," Lucas said earnestly. "Keep your friends close, all right?"

Toby nodded resolutely. "Thanks, man. You too."

Lucas backed away, providing a short wave to the two of them before turning and jogging into the darkness. Toby watched him until he could no longer make out his figure, mutely gesturing to Caleb to head back toward the car.

Neither of them spoke on the walk back. Chancing a glance at Caleb, he saw that the younger's wheels seemed to be turning at warp speed as he attempted to process all that had just happened. Surely he was trying to mitigate his affection for Lucas with his dislike of Toby, striving to make sense of how these two very opposite people could possibly like one _another_. It was certainly cognitive dissonance at its finest, two pieces of conflicting information butting heads with one another in a frenzy of confusing divergence.

It wasn't until they were back in the car and a couple blocks down the road that the thick wall of silence was cracked. Caleb cleared his throat hesitantly, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

"I have a question," he said quietly, running a hand along the nape of his neck.

Of course he did. Naturally.

"Yeah?"

The younger cleared his throat a second time with a certain degree of discomfort, as though afraid that his inquiry was misplaced.

"If Lucas's nickname is Boba Fett…what's yours?"

The tables of embarrassment turned so rapidly it was like a legendary Houdini magic trick.

Toby mumbled his response, though he knew full well that Caleb would not catch it.

"What?"

He sighed in defeat, pursing his mouth together in a tight line. "Han Solo."

There was a moment of silence in which the two of them allowed the comment to simmer in the space between them. Then, after a beat, Caleb snorted involuntarily. This quickly turned into tentative chuckling, which escalated into unbridled laughter in the blink of an eye.

Toby couldn't quite help himself; he was laughing before he even realized what he was doing. He couldn't remember the last time he had truly found anything genuinely funny, and the sensation of his diaphragm rumbling joyously was graciously welcomed. It felt nice to let everything else go, if only for a brief moment.

It was a little over a mile later before either of them trailed off, exhaling dramatically at the cramps that pinched their sides.

Caleb's mouth still spread into a wide grin, he turned to face Toby. It was probably the most sincere expression he had shared with the elder as of yet, and its implications brought a degree of relief to Toby's exhausted mind.

"That's probably the most awesome thing I've ever heard."

Toby smiled in spite of himself, and it was as though the cloud of tension between them was dissipating before his very eyes, diffusing into the world around them as silently as an obstructive fog lifting into the darkness.

Maybe working with Caleb wouldn't be so bad, after all.

* * *

"Where have you been?"

Toby and Caleb had hardly made it through the door before he was bludgeoned by her raspy inquiry, his eyes falling on her stiff figure in the kitchen. Her arms were crossed diligently over her chest, as though he were in for a lengthy diatribe about missing curfew.

"Spencer," he greeted in surprise, walking to greet her at the sink. A waft of her scent met his nostrils, and he felt instantaneously powerless in her presence. "What's wrong?"

"I was supposed to meet you after dinner, remember?" she said brashly, her eyes glistening with concern. "I got here, and you were gone, and…"

She trailed off, her gaze flickering away from his and toward the window, her lips pressed into a puckered frown. He knew immediately where her statement had been heading, and the balloon of guilt that rose in his chest presented a dull ache against his heart.

"I forgot. I'm so sorry," he murmured, taking her gently by the elbows to pull her into his frame. "I didn't mean to worry you."

She rested her cheek against his shirt, but remained silent. He used one hand to massage the small in her back, the other burying itself in the depths of her chocolate locks.

"Hey – Spencer – what's this?" Caleb asked suddenly, fumbling with a brochure that was peeking out from the inside of her purse on the counter. All that Toby could make out was a set of giant green eyes printed in tricolor ink, and it was little wonder how it caught Caleb's attention.

She pulled back to follow his train of view, shrugging with disinterested nonchalance.

"Something Jenna made for her poetry presentation in English today," she explained dismissively. "We had to make visual aids."

Caleb looked at Toby pointedly from beneath his dark eyelashes for a brief moment as he began to skim through the brochure. Toby returned the look, but said nothing.

"What do you have there?" Spencer asked quietly, a certain degree of irritation still present in her tone. Clearly he would not be forgiven in full until he had provided her with a very detailed explanation of why he had blown her off.

He saw that she was pointing to the rolled up envelope in his jacket pocket, which he unearthed at its mention.

"Lucas did some digging for me," he began. "I think he may have an answer about – "

"Holy shit, you've got to be kidding me."

Both Spencer and Toby turned abruptly to Caleb, whose face was visibly aghast with enlightened surprise. He tossed the brochure aside and bee-lined for the laptop, plopping himself into the seat and going to work faster than Toby could comprehend what had happened.

"What? What is it?" Spencer asked worriedly.

Toby, however, had snatched the printout that Caleb had dropped unceremoniously on the counter top. He flipped it open and began to quickly peruse the page. It was a poem by an author he had never heard of, but its meaning jumped out with immediate usefulness.

_"If seeing is believing, then I see clearer than once did,  
For all this life was given, was all I needed then to live."_

"Oh, my God," he mumbled as realization dawned upon him. Caleb was adjusting his position frantically to get closer to the screen, as if his proximity would increase his accuracy.

Toby was at his side in an instant, leaning anxiously over the counter beside him. Spencer, still in the dark, remained planted in the kitchen, awaiting an explanation.

"What is going on?"

"_If seeing is believing_," Caleb muttered to himself as he typed it into the text box. He slammed the 'enter' key with such enthusiasm that its loud _click_ing noise seemed to echo through the entire loft.

The box disappeared. What Toby was met with, instead, was a list of numerous files, all freshly accessible.

"That clever bitch," Caleb muttered triumphantly. "We're in."

* * *

_**A/N:** Couple of things to address. _

_Some of you asked where the Boba Fett nickname came from. That's completely fanon in my head. I just always thought of Toby and Lucas having a silent understanding that neither of them truly belonged on the A-Team. This is kind of residual of my story Don't Look Back, in which I briefly explore their camaraderie. I know there was that whole thing in 3x14, I believe it was, where Toby tried to run him down, but I believe there's a logical explanation for it, which I played around with a bit in this chapter._

_Also, before I get all kinds of questions about the birthdates that Caleb rattled off, keep in mind that the PLL timeline is actually behind a bit. Season 3 ended somewhere in the ballpark of early December 2011. On that note, I'm not sure if Toby is meant to be older than the girls, but I personally just always kind of assumed he was a grade ahead._

_I chose October for Jenna's birthday because of her party in 3A. Senior year had already started, and it was clearly before Halloween. I chose January for Toby because it just sounded right in my brain. _

_A big 'thank you' to poet Linda Winchell for writing the PERFECT poem, "If Seeing is Believing," for me to use as Jenna's assignment. I couldn't believe when I found it just how nicely it fit into my plans. _

_Anyway, thank you all so much for being such loyal reviewers. This story seems to garner more feedback than some of my others, for which I am eternally grateful. You guys are fantastic and I love all of you so very much. _


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:** I'm sorry for the delay, everyone. I know not all of you follow me on Tumblr, but I had cited the reason for the mini-hiatus over there. Really terrible past couple of weeks. I'm hoping to get back into the swing of things soon. _

_I can't promise that I'll have two separate chapters to make up for the two weeks that I missed, but I'm hoping to work on this story a bit more this week and hopefully at least provide another semi-long chapter by Tuesday night. _

_Another thing to address - I know that some of you had commented that the last chapter didn't have very much Spoby, but I feel the need to mention that they're not 100% the focal point of the story. I love them, and Toby is definitely going to be the primary "narrator," so to speak, so there will be more Spoby moments by default than any other couple. But please just keep in mind that this story wasn't necessarily created with the intention of making it a full-out romance. I wanted to parallel the show and some of the spoilers we've received as much as possible. Don't fret, though - the next chapter is going to be Spoby-centric. I already have it planned out. _

_I love all of you. Thanks for being patient with me._

* * *

**EVERYTHING'S MADE TO BE BROKEN**

**CHAPTER 6**

He toyed mindlessly with his phone, turning it over in hand and gazing at the list of contacts he had accumulated over the years. It would have been anyone else's solution, really – to choose one of the applicable numbers and make the call. Any one of them could probably provide him with the answers he sought. He could get the information he needed, and nobody would have to get hurt. It seemed simple enough.

But nothing was simple anymore. Not in the age of sociopathic serial texters and people knowing how to tap phones before they were even old enough to vote. Sending the signal out was a risk. And it was not one that he was willing to take. It would be foolish and borderline suicidal to even consider it.

He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror, finding that the face staring back at him was almost unrecognizable. Life had worn and frayed him in so many ways over the past several months, marring what could have once been deemed handsome features. He was a mere shell of what he used to be – a cracked and condensed version of his former self.

And he knew precisely who to blame.

He would be there soon enough. And when he arrived, she had better hope to God that he was feeling a shred of mercy.

* * *

Two hours. That was how long Aria had been staring mindlessly at the screen of her computer, fingers hovering over the keys as if waiting for the evasive words to magically come to her. Her essay on the Revolutionary War was due in two days, and even with the pressure building, she could not force herself to concentrate long enough to make any headway. So far all she had managed to accomplish was her name and the date in the upper right hand corner, the rest of the document staring back at her blankly.

She sighed dejectedly, sipping gratuitously on the cold coffee she had stopped for on the way home. She had predicted that it would be a late night and that the caffeine would be crucial to maintain her focus. It hadn't done anything to assist her, however, in anything other than providing an additional distraction for her hands when they grew tired of perching on the keyboard.

It certainly hadn't helped that Skype had maliciously announced Ezra signing in about an hour ago, the words glowing with some cruel reminder of their last conversation. She had spent some time carefully studying his name on her contacts list, telepathically pleading with him to talk to her. She couldn't bring _herself_ to make the first move, after all; with everything that had happened and everything that she had said to him, it seemed monumentally inappropriate to ask anything of him. Especially emotional support.

But she wanted so badly to hear his voice. To have him tell her that everything would turn out okay; that the pieces would come together soon enough, and she could stop running herself ragged trying to make sense of the chaos that the weekend had brought upon her and her friends. She couldn't tell him the full story, of course – but she wouldn't have to. He would be able to sense that something was bothering her, and would know precisely what to say to make it better. He always did.

She had never felt as lonely as she had the past few days.

The sound of the door creaking open downstairs launched her from her reverie, bringing her thoughts to a screeching halt.

Her frame went rigid, her body instinctively jerking out of its slouched position against the desk. Mike was with her mother for the night, and her dad wasn't due home for another couple of hours.

She was supposed to be home alone.

A plethora of possibilities inundated her, crashing confusedly upon one another as her head raced with intensifying panic. 'A'? Meredith? One of her friends? Her breath stopped short in her lungs, held captive by the adrenaline that immediately kicked into gear.

After a beat she regained partial composure, reaching carefully for the sterling silver letter opener she had swiped from her dad's office after her last hostage encounter. Her fingers curled quietly around the handle, the metal edge scraping almost inaudibly across the mahogany finish of the desktop as she pulled it closer.

She rose to her feet silently and tiptoed toward the half-open door, shrinking against the wall and peeking into the hallway. Darkness enveloped the space beyond the threshold, the only movement stemming from the shadows cast by trees swaying in the moonlight outside the window.

The bottom step groaned under the weight of an unidentified body, as it was wont to do ever since she was a child. Distinct, undeniable footfalls were increasing in volume as the unwelcome visitor ascended the staircase.

Aria inhaled sharply, tightening her fingers around the handle of the blade. She shakily raised it above her shoulder, clutching onto it with a grip so fierce that she could feel her pulse thrumming in her palm. She heard the shuffling hesitate as the figure paused outside her door, and she found herself wishing she had thought fast enough to turn her bedroom light out.

A hand reached out to rest itself against the door, slowly beginning to push it inward. Instinctively, she thrust the letter opener in the direction of the exposed flesh. The intruder jerked it away with startled immediacy.

"Ow! God _damn _it!"

That voice. She _knew_ that voice.

She leapt into view, weapon still poised warningly in front of her frame. The blond man was stumbling backward, clutching at the fresh wound with his free hand. He looked thinner than the last time she had seen him, and a bit worse for wear, but it was unmistakably him. When his pale green eyes flickered upward to meet hers in incredulous confusion, she felt the familiar balloon of ambivalent emotion flutter somewhere in the depths of her stomach.

"Jason?" she breathed.

* * *

Toby clasped both hands around the back of his neck, trying to calm the whirring thoughts racing through his brain. If he thought there was a reason to be frightened of Jenna before tonight, he had been sorely mistaken. What they were seeing took the cake, by a long shot.

He had never realized just how vindictive she could be. And the mere notion of what she was truly capable of was somehow both sobering and disorienting, simultaneously. With every passing moment he was beginning to regret his decision to swipe the drive from her room more and more, terrified of what the contents alone could do by way of punishment.

"This is insane," Caleb murmured, his dark eyes flittering hypnotically across the screen. "This stuff – all these files she has on here – if the police saw this…"

"They probably _gave_ it to her," interrupted Spencer. "Wilden is her new secret best friend, remember?"

The three had been silently poring over the contents of the flash drive for the better part of the past half hour, the quiet shattered only by Caleb's declaration of disbelief. Toby wasn't sure whether to be impressed with Jenna's ability to attain such confidential records, concerned about the lengths she had probably gone to in order to get her hands on them, or terrified by the fact that she had enough power at her fingertips to bend the entire town to her own twisted will. Maybe a bit of all three, really. There was a knot in his stomach that wouldn't quite come unclenched, and he was beginning to feel a bit nauseated.

He had always known that Jenna had friends in low places, and held no qualms about stooping to a bottom feeding level. But he had underestimated her. She had, in her power, the means of bringing down pretty much anybody she could ever want. After years of accumulating enough ammunition to destroy her enemies, she was prepared for any betrayal, however miniscule. All it took was an anonymous tip to the right person, and she could sit back and watch as their world came crumbling down.

Caleb did not reply to Spencer's comment. Instead he double clicked on another file, bringing up a Rosewood Police Department mug shot of Hanna. Her hair was in utter disarray, fraying out around the frame of her mud-covered face. Toby recognized it as the night the girls had been arrested for tampering with police evidence, right after her father's almost-wedding.

"Jesus Christ," Caleb grumbled. "Why does she have this stuff? Is she part of the 'A' team? Does she trade information to them?"

"Not that I've ever heard of," Toby offered quietly. "I was around for a while, and Mona never once mentioned anything about having an alliance with Jenna."

"Maybe she didn't trust you enough," Caleb said under his breath. Though the statement was laced with potential ambiguity, Toby opted to ignore the implication.

Caleb closed out Hanna's record and moved to the next file down. It was a black and white photograph of Spencer, her face so unrecognizable that Toby almost didn't realize it was her. It took him a moment to register what it was from, but the sound of her breath hitching sharply beside him gave him a good indication. His heart skipped an involuntary beat, and a heavy anchor of guilt tugged at his insides.

"Radley files, too," said Caleb unnecessarily, glancing briefly in her direction before quickly closing it once more. The brevity with which he banished it from the screen made no difference, however; the sight of Spencer's vacant expression and exhausted shadows beneath her eyes had already burned its way into Toby's brain. Instinctively he reached for her hand, not surprised to find that she was trembling. He brought her fingers to his mouth in a chaste kiss, holding their embrace tightly at his chin.

The next window was no better. It was a full autopsy report about Alison DiLaurentis, complete with pictures of the crime scene, pertinent x-rays, and her lifeless body strewn across an operation table in preparation to be studied. Even Toby, who had not necessarily been Ali's biggest fan, felt a powerful twinge of morbidity at the image of her once-lively face reduced to a translucent mask of immobilized stone.

Spencer sniffled beside him.

"I've seen enough," she declared brashly. She tugged her hand away from his grip and meandered back into the kitchen, her fingertips working diligently at her temples to placate an incoming headache.

Toby turned to meet Caleb's gaze. It appeared that the younger was, strangely enough, asking silently for instruction. It felt rather ironic with everything that had happened as of late, but it was progress nonetheless. Toby shook his head tersely, to which Caleb responded by obediently pushing the laptop away.

"Are you okay?" Caleb asked Spencer softly, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.

There was a beat before she broke her trance, marching authoritatively toward the counter top by the sink to grab her coffee mug.

"It's sick," she ranted hoarsely, gripping at the porcelain of her cup so fiercely that Toby feared she'd shatter it into a million pieces with unconscious strength. "We buried Alison over a year ago. A normal person in a normal town would have been able to at least _start _moving on by now. But _no_. With people like Jenna and Mona stirring things up, I keep burying her over and over again, every single night, in every single dream."

Toby felt a pang of sympathy and suppressed the urge to go to her. He wanted to wrap her in a hug and hold her in a bubble of solitude until all of her demons were chased away, intimidated by the vigor with which he vowed to protect her. But she might not be ready for that, and he did not want to push. He was still attempting to give her space, even if it pained him to do so.

He chanced a glance at Caleb, whose eyes were trained thoughtfully on the floor. He seemed to be undergoing some internal struggle about what to say, himself. Both of them were at a loss for words.

"Why does she have this stuff?" Spencer continued, attempting to steady her hand long enough to pour another cup of coffee. "Police files, autopsy reports, medical records, phone archives…how did she get them? Why does she want them?"

Toby sighed quietly, rubbing a tired hand across his mouth. Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), he knew the answer to this one without even trying. "Jenna likes having all the power."

He did not elaborate. And he hoped he didn't need to.

"For what?" Spencer scoffed, stabilizing her frame against the countertop with both hands. "To keep it on hand, just in case someone screws her over?"

Toby flicked a pensive eyebrow upward to indicate that this was precisely his train of thought, but said nothing.

"So, what? This flash drive is her underground armory? Her stash of dormant nuclear weapons, saved for a rainy day?"

"She wanted me to hack Hanna's phone last year," Caleb muttered thoughtfully. "I never really thought anything of it, other than mean girls doing what they do best."

"Ammunition," Toby growled. "A secret weapon."

Spencer was pacing now, practically wearing a path in the carpet. "But why hide it? If you have the power, don't you want to flaunt it?"

"It takes the fun out of it," Toby murmured bitterly. "If you put all your cards on the table, everyone knows what hand you're playing."

"But if you have a weapon, don't you want people to know it? So that they never cross you?" Caleb pondered aloud, picking up Spencer's meaning.

Toby shook his head as the morbid realization continued to seep in, his blood running cold at the implication. "She's not using it as a deterrent. She's using it as an insurance policy."

Both Caleb and Spencer stopped what they were doing to survey him, brows crinkling in confusion.

"What do you mean?" Caleb demanded.

Toby sighed. "I mean, if you want an excuse to fire a gun, wouldn't you keep it a secret until someone tries to attack you? If you wave it around, nobody is going to come close enough. But if you _want_ to pull that trigger…"

Understanding dawned on Spencer's face before Caleb put the pieces together, and she inhaled shakily in reply. "She doesn't want people to know she has them, because she's dying for the opportunity to use them."

Toby nodded resolutely. Thought he had already figured it out, hearing it out loud made him feel a bit sick all over again.

"But you guys have pissed her off so many times in the past," Caleb argued. "Why not use it then?"

Spencer shook her head almost imperceptibly. "Because we didn't do anything bad enough. But she's been spending the past year goading us, trying to provoke a reaction of some kind. My money's on the fact that she's been trying to push all of us over the edge so that she can add insult to injury."

Toby mulled this over, leaning the side of his body tiredly against the counter. That made sense, to some degree. But something wasn't sitting right in his gut, leaving an unpleasant churning in the pit of his stomach.

And then, he froze mid-exhale.

"Spence?" he ventured quietly.

"Hmm?"

"You said someone set you up with that shovel last spring, right?"

"Yeah," she began uncertainly. "Why?"

"And you said that the missing page of Ali's autopsy report could have let all of you off the hook."

"Yeah, because it describes the murder weapon and the wound inflicted by – " She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening in realization. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Jenna had the missing page," Toby mumbled. "She blamed Garrett. She had me drive her to the police station to turn him in."

"But she knew exactly what it said," Spencer breathed. "She set us up."

"She set all of you up, Garrett included," Caleb declared. "She must have known that stashing that page away would prove your innocence. That they couldn't keep you in police custody for long, but it would be long _enough_ to shake you up. That – that – "

"That we'd be so concerned with our probation and community service that we wouldn't be paying attention to the fact that Little Miss Land of the Blind got her eye sight back," Spencer grumbled. "I can't believe I didn't see it before."

The two boys peered at her with identical masks of surprised indignance.

She grimaced. "No pun intended." After a beat she waved her hands around dismissively, as if unwilling to venture too far off-topic. "The fact of the matter is, either way, she had us right where she wanted us. Garrett, too. She set the game board and put the pieces in motion. She's no better than 'A'."

Neither Toby nor Caleb said anything, watching in morbid fascination as the wheels continued turning in her brain. She sighed heavily.

"Why do I suddenly feel like a rat in a maze?"

* * *

"Hold still," Aria said with an air of authority, clutching tightly onto his knuckles as he flinched. "I'm almost done."

"It stings," Jason muttered, his face twisting into an unpleasant grimace. "I'm not used to getting stabbed, you know."

She sighed, rolling her eyes at him playfully. "I told you I was sorry. What more do you want? Maybe you shouldn't be sneaking into people's houses after dark."

His lips curled upward in a tiny smirk, his sea green eyes flickering in her direction. "I suppose burglary isn't the right career path for me, then."

She could not stifle the amused grin that played at her mouth as she finished wrapping his hand, tucking the loose end of the bandage beneath the fold on his palm. "There. Done."

He held out the appendage in front of his face, opening and closing his fingers to test his grip. He winced a bit at the pressure this placed on his wound. "I hope I don't need stitches."

"It was a letter opener, not a buzz saw," Aria chided. "I barely broke skin."

"Easy for you to say," he muttered sarcastically. "You're not the one who's going to be attempting to write left-handed for the next few days."

They shared a short chuckle and an amicable silence, surveying one another for a moment.

"How is she doing?" he asked at last, his eyes training downcast to the cup of coffee in front of him.

Aria didn't need to ask him to elaborate. She knew it was precisely the reason he had fled back to Rosewood so quickly, even despite the risk it posed to his own safety.

"She's better," she answered honestly, "but it's a work in progress."

He nodded resolutely, cupping his good hand around the mug and brushing his thumb absentmindedly across the faded words etched into the ceramic. The ridiculous '_Early Bird Gets the Worm, But the Diligent Professor Gets the Tenure_!' mug was Byron's absolute favorite. He refused to get rid of it, no matter how chipped and worn the design had become. Aria remembered her mother trying to break it on purpose once, only to find that it was as indestructible as a ring forged in Mount Doom.

"Where have you been all this time?" she asked quietly, not entirely sure if she wanted to know the answer.

"Dingy little motel in Ravenswood," Jason replied without hesitation. "Far enough off the beaten path to avoid any more Mission Impossible elevator adventures."

Aria chuckled darkly at this, pressing her lips into a thin line. "Well, I'm glad you've been safe."

Jason's eyes hardened beneath his furrowed brow. "But Spencer hasn't."

There was another pregnant pause as Aria digested this, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the older man.

"Just because you were gone doesn't mean it was your fault," she offered gently.

"No?" Jason challenged, his steely gaze returning to hers. "And I suppose it wasn't my fault that I was too drunk to realize my sister was getting killed in my back yard, either."

She bristled as his meaning sunk in: it was too late to protect Alison, but not too late to look out for Spencer. He wanted to do it right this time, and she felt touched by his level of concern.

"Well, everybody's safe. Including Spencer, and including you."

He blinked a few times in rapid succession, as if trying to force this thought into the forefront of his mind. Then, at last, he offered a half-hearted smile. "Yeah."

Aria nearly jumped out of her chair as the door flew open, revealing two of her friends, both of whom looked rather harried.

"Jason," Emily breathed, rushing quickly to the kitchen table at which they were seated. "You're okay."

"Everybody keeps saying that, like you expected to find my dead body in the trunk of someone's car," Jason teased. "I'm here. I'm fine."

"I can't get a hold of either of them," Hanna grumbled irritably, tossing her phone unceremoniously back into her purse. "I tried Spencer _and_ Toby. I can't track her down."

A shade of worry seemed to darken in Jason's eyes once more. Aria jumped to his aid instantaneously.

"I'm sure she's around. Probably just taking some alone time with Toby."

Hanna scoffed, her eyes rolling melodramatically toward the ceiling. "Doesn't she know that she can only have alone time when we don't need her for something?"

Aria and Emily exchanged a look of amusement. Truthfully, neither of them really knew the extent to which Hanna was actually joking.

"She was at school today, though," Emily added gently. "She was fine."

"The more you guys use that word, the bigger the sinking feeling in my stomach gets," Jason replied brashly.

"It's _Spencer_," Emily said, lowering herself into a seat at the table. "She's strong. She's got that Hastings determination and that – what happened to your hand?"

Jason peered good-naturedly at Aria, who winced apologetically in reply.

"Let's just say the Montgomery household is a well-guarded fortress," he said.

"Maybe _now_," Hanna chided, studying the coral paint of her fingernails in front of her face. "But you should have been here when Maniac Meredith was on the war path."

Jason looked curiously in Aria's direction. She shook her head dismissively and forced a smile, unwilling to divulge the details of that particular horror movie.

"We could try stopping by Toby's," Emily began thoughtfully. "Maybe Spencer is there."

"No, don't bother them," Jason decided, pushing his chair out from the table and making to stand. "It's getting late. I'll run by her house in the morning."

Aria gazed up at him, easily noting the look of nervous disappointment on his features. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, offering a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "As long as she's okay, I'll be able to rest easy."

* * *

_**A/N**: I'm not currently formulating any plans to make this story Jaria, but I won't deny that I do love the pairing. I really just aimed to bring the two characters back to a place where they feel comfortable confiding in one another, because I always felt like that part of their friendship was important. Jason is concerned about Spencer, and needs someone to talk to. I would imagine that this person would be Aria. But maybe it's just me. _

_Anyway, hope to see you guys in a couple days!_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** _Sorry for the delay, my loves. This chapter is a tad longer to make up for me being a terrible terrible author. I'm really hoping to make up for some of the missing time in the next couple of days by writing a bit extra. _

_Warning - this chapter broaches very dark, very sensitive topics. I don't want to give too much away, because it is still a major plot point. But if this warning gives you pause in any way and you'd like to know more, please - don't hesitate to PM me to ask questions before you read it._

* * *

**EVERYTHING'S MADE TO BE BROKEN**

**CHAPTER 7**

"So what are you going to do?"

Expected though it was, the younger's curiosity somehow caught him off-guard nonetheless. It was, after all, the burning question at hand. And with every moment that passed, Toby found that he was no closer to answering it than he had been all day.

Caleb seemed to understand his uncertainty, for his eyes darkened and drifted back to his bag, into which he was replacing his notebook. Without words being exchanged, his actions made it clear that he was retracting the inquiry on account of pure, undiluted fatigue. On both their parts.

Toby watched in silence as Caleb finished gathering up his belongings, hoisting one strap of his backpack over his shoulder and trudging in the direction of the door. Toby followed his footfalls to the entryway, leaning against the wall and sighing in dejected exhaustion.

"I appreciate your help tonight, man," he began candidly. "I wouldn't have been able to crack it without you."

Caleb smiled tiredly with only one corner of his mouth. "Hey, I would have been just as stuck as you if it weren't for Spencer bringing that pamphlet back. We got in the easy way – if we kept firing blanks with password attempts, I would have had to start breaking down some of the other security safeguards to get access to those files."

Part of him was curious as to how this would be accomplished. The other part was far too fatigued to hear what would have assuredly been a very complicated explanation.

The younger's eyes flickered toward the bedroom, and he jerked his head pointedly in its direction. "Is she going to be okay?"

Toby pursed his lips stoically, following Caleb's gaze. Spencer had dismissed herself from the conversation about ten minutes prior, her voice shaky with overwhelmed emotion. He was concerned, but chose not to draw attention to her exit until Caleb was on his way home.

"It's a lot to digest," he answered cryptically.

"Yeah, especially after everything's she's been through the past couple of months," Caleb agreed, a far-off expression on his face. The statement felt likened to a bout of whiplash, startling Toby into guilty silence. He opted to ignore it however, confident that, for once, Caleb was not intending to be venomous or accusatory.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Especially after that."

Caleb's dark eyes danced anxiously between Toby's own azure ones for a moment before lowering back to the floor. "It's lucky she has you," he offered quietly, a thickened strain evident in his voice. It sounded as though he were forcing himself to be cordial and it was causing his voice box literal physical pain. "She'll get through it."

It was quite possibly the nicest thing the hacker had ever said to him, even in spite of the difficulty with which he had uttered the words. And Toby was not about to let it pass by without acknowledging it.

So he offered a somber smile, scratching at an invisible itch on the back of his neck. "Thanks, man."

Caleb's mouth twitched into something that was supposed to resemble a returned smile, but the effort fell miserably flat beneath the weight of their night. He was crossing the threshold when something seemed to occur to him and he turned back, his expression curious.

"I meant to ask," he began hesitantly, "what was in Lucas's envelope?"

The envelope. Toby had nearly forgotten all about it.

"I'll let you know," he offered blankly. If he was being honest, he was in no condition to tackle anything else.

He took note of Caleb's cynical eyebrow quirking up his forehead, so he added, "I promise."

This seemed to suffice. Caleb nodded resolutely before turning away from the apartment once more, quietly trudging down the steps. Toby watched him retreat until he could no longer make out his figure before softly shutting and dead bolting the door behind him.

He took a moment to lean wearily against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut in a feeble attempt to silence the thoughts racing wildly in his brain. What _was_ he going to do? It wasn't as simple as just confronting Jenna, after all. He was going to need a plan.

"Stop," he muttered to himself, pleading with his own psyche to let it go for a while. He was utterly exhausted, and continuing to acknowledge all of tomorrow's worries was doing nothing to relax him.

With a valiant effort likened to an old man prying himself off of an armchair, Toby peeled his frame away from the wall and forced his feet to carry him to the bedroom. He took immediate note of Spencer's tiny figure curled into the fetal position atop the comforter, her eyes trained somewhere that far surpassed the actual loft.

"Did Caleb leave?" she murmured, sensing his presence.

He sighed heavily. "Yeah."

She said no more as shed his zip-up and yanked his t-shirt over his head, setting it purposefully at Spencer's feet. Just in case. She seemed to understand his intention, for she smiled quietly to herself and reached over to pull it against her chest.

"Is it all right if I stay here?" she breathed.

He crawled in behind her, his arm automatically encircling the lithe circumference of her waist. "Anything you want," he whispered, his nose finding refuge in the mess of curls at the back of her head. He meant for the statement to sound as innocuous as possible, but even he was able to clearly detect the bias in his tone.

Her fingers absent-mindedly curled through his at her stomach, and her touch served to melt the anxiety-induced ice that had been coursing through his veins. Instinctively, he pulled her closer.

They stayed like this for a moment, long enough that Toby was barely teetering on the brink of consciousness when she pulled away to announce she was going to use the bathroom and change. He tried to produce a coherent reply, but it came out sounding like more of a grunt than anything else.

Her absence was suddenly engulfing, and the cold tremors seemed to hijack his insides once more. Pulling the covers tighter over his frame to ward off an involuntary shudder, he found that his ability to relax was almost completely impeded by the empty space beside him. It was difficult to be patient for her return when everything felt so dizzying without her.

It was a sobering realization, really. There had never been a doubt in his mind that he loved her with every fiber of his being, until the ends of the earth and back. But ever since that fateful night at the diner a few short days ago, he had felt a brand new sort of attachment to her. The kind where if you're not holding on tight, all of the fear and self-flagellation begins to seep back into the very core of your bones, and the world threatens to tear you apart once more.

Toby had felt it before. The keen sting of losing her and fending for himself. As difficult as it had been, he had somehow managed to persevere on the sole basis of his desire to protect her. It had fueled his fire and kept him strong – at least, strong _enough_ to do what needed to be done. But that fire of vengeance had long-since begun to burn out. And the more effort he put toward keeping it stoked, the weaker he began to feel.

He needed her. He needed her with every last breath. Ached for her with every single cell within his body. With everything he had done – everything he had sacrificed to ensure her safety – here he was: reduced to a trembling child, terrified of being abandoned when he needed her warmth so badly.

He had hardly noticed he'd been shivering until she returned, inserting herself under the covers to face him, her legs immediately intertwining with his and her arm draping over his side.

"Toby?" she murmured worriedly, her fingernails gingerly etching indiscernible shapes along his lower back.

He could not bring himself to meet her eyes, instead squeezing his own shut so tightly that he began to see stars. In response, he tugged her closer until his forehead was flush with hers, and his ragged breathing began to dissolve into its regular pattern of healthy, even inhales.

"Are you all right?" she pressed, her hand relocating to the curvature of his jaw. Her touch was all but debilitating in his current state of desperation to have her as close as humanly possible, and his exhaustion was replaced with something much less innocent. He quelled the urge quickly, gulping against the lump in his throat and peering at her quietly from beneath his eyelashes.

Her expression was soft and concerned, her lips parted ever-so-slightly in silent concentration. The russet circles of her eyes shimmered mesmerizingly in the patch of moonlight that peeked in through the gaps of his curtains, and he had to fight to contain himself.

He raised his face enough to press his lips firmly to her forehead for a moment, his fingertips grazing the soft surface of her temple. Exhaustion was pulling him under once more, stronger than any other desire he felt, and his eyes fluttered shut without permission. Everything was clearer with her in his arms.

He took a deep breath and let it out calmly, gently pulling her head to the cradle of the crook of his neck.

"I am now."

* * *

The next morning arrived without incident, for which Jason was rather grateful. He hadn't expected to sleep as heavily in his own bed as he did, terrified of the haunted feelings that being back in Rosewood would bring. But nevertheless, he had passed out almost instantaneously and remained unconscious until his alarm broke him from his reverie.

He stumbled out of bed haphazardly, the feeling not quite back in his legs, and immediately made his way to peer out the window. Perfect timing. Spencer was pulling into the driveway next door at that precise moment.

He quickly found the t-shirt and pair of jeans he had dumped unceremoniously on the ground the night before, hopping on one leg down the stairs as he hurriedly pulled his pants on. He was bounding out the door and across the yard before he even had his head through the neck hole of his shirt.

He did not bother knocking – such cordial niceties seemed somehow buried under the gravity of everything that had happened as of late. She was standing in the kitchen, finishing the task of starting a brew cycle on the coffee pot, when her eyes landed on him.

There was a moment of perplexed silence before her expression melted into something that resembled worried affection. He felt so relieved to see her face that he could have cried. She was here – she was safe – and she looked like her old self.

"Jason?" she breathed.

That was all it took. He barreled around furniture to reach her, and she similarly matched his pace until she crashed into his arms. He hugged her tightly to his frame, his face buried in the crown of her head. It occurred to him distantly that this was quite possibly the first time he had ever embraced her like this, but the dangerous and extenuating circumstances largely overshadowed the oddity of the situation.

She was his little sister. He had already lost one – he could not bear the thought of losing another. And that connection was rooted deeper than anything else.

"I came back as soon as I could," he murmured quietly. "Emily texted me and told me what happened. I tried asking Melissa what was going on, but she insisted she had it under control."

Spencer scoffed from somewhere against his chest, as if to bitterly disagree.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he added.

She pulled back, her face distorting into something that resembled angry resentment. Suddenly she was planting tiny punches with her fists against his chest, and as much as the testosterone in his system would have liked to argue against it, they actually _really _hurt.

"Hey!" he cried out indignantly, leaping backward to evade the finale of her tirade.

"How could you put me through that?" she demanded brashly. "I thought you were dead!"

He grimaced sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean – "

"Thank God Toby told me what _actually_ happened. You had me worried sick."

"Toby?" he asked with a bit more force than necessary. The girls had spoken of him last night, but with everything going on, he hadn't fully processed their meaning. "_Toby's _back in the picture?"

She pointed a warning finger only inches from his face. "Do not start being the alpha big brother right now, okay?" she said waspishly. "You're avoiding."

"I'm not avoiding anything!" he said defensively. "I just – I mean – do you actually know - ?"

"I know everything," she interrupted, her eyes ablaze with fiery intensity. "Stop changing the subject!"

He sighed with unabashed frustration, crossing his arms across his now-tender chest. "Okay, Spencer, what is it that you want to know, exactly?"

"Where have you been all this time?"

"Ravenswood. A little motel off the beaten path."

"What were you doing?"

"Laying low. Trying to stay off the radar of whoever took up the hobby of N.A.T. genocide."

"And why are you back?"

"Because my sister hit rock bottom and I had to make sure she was all right." The venom with which he said this last was unintended, and ironically enough degraded the actual candor of his meaning.

However, his tone did not seem to prevent the message from reaching her ears, for her expression softened in slight, the tension in her jaw wavering.

"Are you done?" he asked wearily.

She sighed melodramatically. "I'm done," she declared, launching herself into his arms once more. He stumbled backward a bit at her zeal, startled by the brevity of her rebound rate. He was alarmed to realize that he, too, had basically lost all of his will to fight with her in the blink of an eye. It was bizarre to consider how much they truly had in common.

"Is this a Hastings thing?" he muttered disdainfully.

She seemed to understand his meaning, for she chuckled quietly before pulling back again.

"Our will to win in a fight is second only to the gratitude that someone didn't die," she remarked jokingly, her mouth curling into a playful smirk.

He could not suppress his grin. He could certainly relate to that sentiment.

"Listen, I really have to get to school," she declared, as if suddenly remembering. "I still have to shower, and change, and – "

"It's fine," he interrupted. "We can finish this later."

"I'm holding you to that," she said threateningly. "I have a million questions. After school? Melissa went back to the city and my parents are in D.C. for the week. You can meet me back here."

He nodded. "That's fine."

She offered him one last smile before darting up the steps. Even in his solitude, he felt a considerable weight being lifted from his shoulders.

She was still _Spencer_. And that was more than he could have hoped for.

* * *

"She has my _mug shot_?" Hanna declared incredulously, her face a mask of utter horror. "Oh, that's it. Bitch is mine."

Spencer and Caleb had just finished filling the girls in on the adventures from the night before, both feeling rather exhausted in the re-telling.

"Why does she have that stuff?" Aria demanded quietly, her eyes flickering worriedly across the cafeteria in Jenna's direction.

Spencer shrugged dejectedly. "Your guess is as good as ours. Toby figures she's waiting for a chance to pull the trigger."

"Okay, what is with all the gun metaphors lately?" Hanna asked brashly as she peeled away the skin of her orange. "Really not sitting right in my stomach. I'm starting to feel like it's pre-shadowing or something."

Spencer's confusion at her statement was short-lived, and she was quick to correct her, as usual. "_Fore_shadowing, Han."

"What?" Hanna asked distractedly. "Never mind. The point is, I'm starting to wonder if Rosewood High shouldn't install some metal detectors at the doors."

Emily sent her an impatient sidelong glance before turning back to regard Spencer and Caleb once more. "What else did you find out?"

"That was about it for the flash drive," said Caleb through a mouthful of grilled cheese. "But Lucas gave Toby this envelope, and Toby said he's pretty sure it can answer some ques – "

"Lucas?" Hanna demanded suddenly, her eyes darting back to the conversation at hand. "You saw Lucas?"

"You guys didn't tell me you actually _saw_ Lucas," Spencer agreed, feeling a bit hurt at the omission.

Caleb eyed her, deadpan. "When were we supposed to do that? While you were jumping down Toby's throat for doing extra work, or after we realized that Jenna's packing enough heat to metaphorically tranq an elephant?"

The statement caught her off guard. Rather than being offended by his thinly veiled jab about how she had jumped to conclusions, she was more amusedly surprised at his quickness to leap to the older boy's aid in his absence.

"Sorry, _Watson_," she said coyly. "I didn't realize you and Sherlock were getting along so well."

Caleb seemed to interpret her meaning with sheepish hesitance, opening his mouth to retaliate. Before he could get anything out, however, Hanna was batting at his arm impatiently.

"Back to the part about Lucas," she insisted, whirling her finger in a circle as if to pantomime rewinding something. "Where was he? How is he?"

"He's fine," Caleb sighed. "But he couldn't stay."

His girlfriend's face fell noticeably at this realization, and she leaned back thoughtfully in her chair.

"I'm sorry, babe," he added warmly, reaching out to grasp her hand. "As soon as we get everything taken care of, he'll be safe to come back."

"You've got to be kidding."

Emily's sudden declaration had all of them turning to follow her train of view. Spencer felt her heart leap into her chest as she saw Mona sitting down beside Jenna, chatting amicably as though they'd been friends for years.

"Check out Thelma and Louise," Aria muttered. "When did that become a thing?"

"She got what she wanted out of us yesterday," Spencer said darkly. "We basically promised her our loyalty. That's all that matters to her."

"I still don't trust her as far as I can throw her," Hanna grumbled. "And trust me – we tried out for cheerleading together once and I was supposed to toss her in the air for the pyramid – she didn't get far."

Nobody acknowledged Hanna's misplaced anecdote, focused instead on the way that Jenna seemed to be perfectly content with Mona's company.

"Knowing what Jenna knows, and knowing what Mona knows, this has bad news written all over it," said Caleb, glancing out the corners of his eyes in Spencer's direction. She met his gaze and the two exchanged a silent understanding.

"I'll talk to Toby," she decided. "It's time to plan our next move."

* * *

He hadn't intended to spend any more time on the damned flash drive. He really, truly hadn't. For all of the stress it had caused him the night before, he was surprised he even had an ounce of motivation to subject himself to the horrors all over again.

But they had not finished perusing its contents. And some dark, masochistic part of him just _had_ to know what else was there. He needed to have the entire story in order to even_ begin_ moving towards peace of mind.

Most of it mirrored the other sorts of things they had looked at. Police reports. Autopsies. Phone records. For all intents and purposes it was basically a broken record of coveted ammunition, and he was ready to throw in the towel when a particular file name caught his eye.

_Cavanaugh_.

The words stared back at him with menacing foreboding. He had seen plenty of files that sullied his own name, but the sinking feeling in his stomach gave him the distinct impression that something about this one was different. There was a dark presence engulfing his very soul as he eyed his own surname surreptitiously, terrified of what he was about to find.

After a moment more of hesitation, he slowly double clicked the file.

A video frame popped onto the screen. It was a woman. Middle-aged with dark, flowing locks and eyes so blue they could have been cut from the cloth of the sky. Worry lines etched her features and the dark circles surrounding those adoring azure pools brought back a flood of morbid, horrifying memories.

And then, she spoke.

"Toby. My beloved, darling Toby."

His breath caught in his throat. It had been so long since he had heard that voice. The sensation it brought in its wake was bizarre, likened to frost bite. Its sting was so bitterly cold that it left an illusive air of misidentified warmth.

"If you're watching this, it means that the time has come. I've tried so hard to fight this for so long, my love, but I just don't have the strength to do it anymore."

Clear waterfalls of tears were seeping from her eyes now, cascading down the cliffs of her prominent cheekbones. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle her incoming sobs, and Toby felt his heart aching inconsolably in his chest.

"I want you to know that this has nothing to do with you. I love you. I love you so very much, and I am so proud of the man you're becoming. But I haven't been fair to you. I haven't been a good mother. I've only caused you pain and suffering."

"That's not true," Toby murmured aloud, to no one in particular. His mother had been the _only_ person, until Emily and Spencer, who had _ever _made him feel like his existence was not benign. His father rarely spoke to him, and if he did, it was only to deride him for his latest failure or defend Jenna in the midst of a family feud. His mother had been the _only_ parent that actually cared for him. Really, _truly_ cared for him. Felt pride in him. Expected and anticipated great things from him.

"It's not fair to you, and I'm just so tired, Toby. I'm just so, so tired. It breaks my heart that I have to leave you, but it's the right thing to do. You're better off without me."

Her meaning was beginning to sink in, and an anxious knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

"Good-bye, baby," she uttered hoarsely, a quiet sob punctuating her words. "I love you so much."

The video feed cut out.

There was a moment in which he could not bring himself to move. He stared at the screen in front of him, growing blurrier each second with the coalescing tears clouding his vision, trying to process what had happened.

He knew what it meant. Though he had never seen the video before, he felt that he had always known somewhere deep down. It had been a seed that was planted by Alison DiLaurentis herself, long ago, sometime in the early years of his days at Rosewood High.

_Even your own mother didn't love you enough to stick around. _

And suddenly, the onslaught of nausea was so powerful that he launched himself from the stool and barreled in the direction of the bathroom. He was on the ground clutching the toilet in an instant, the bile burning all the way up his esophagus. He vomited until his abdomen ached and his throat felt on fire. Expended everything from the bowels of his stomach until there was nothing left to evacuate, and he was merely coughing on the lump of hallowing emptiness.

At long last he collapsed against the wall, violent and unexpected sobs wracking his entire frame with reckless abandon. How had Jenna gotten her hands on this before he ever got a chance to see it? How could she keep something like this from him? What had he done to her that was so _unmercifully_ unforgivable that she felt the need to cling onto the evidence like it was merely another one of her snow globes, reserved for her eyes only?

And how could his dad not tell him? His own fucking father? How could he keep something like this from his _own child_?

He was crying so forcefully now that he could no longer breathe properly. His lungs were expanding and contracting so rapidly that oxygen was evading him entirely, and he was beginning to see stars.

"Toby?"

Someone was calling his name. He heard them only distantly, as if from the end of a tin can telephone. He could not have replied even if he wanted to – his voice box was rendered entirely useless from his inability to steady his breathing.

"Toby, I know you said you'd let me know about the envelope, but we just saw Mona at lunch and – "

The younger boy's face appeared around the corner, his dark eyes widening at the sight before him. Toby could barely make out his features, his vision blurring past the point of proper focus.

"Toby!" he cried, dropping to the floor in front of him. His face was swimming in and out, features doubling and quadrupling with every second. "Toby, what happened?!"

That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it? What exactly _had_ happened? What had possessed his mother to do the _one thing_ that could unravel him this way? Completely obliterate what little resolve he had left?

But he knew the questions were useless to ask. Because it made so much sense. It made so much _fucking unfortunate_ sense.

His eyes fluttered shut as his consciousness began to slip from him, and he could still hear Caleb shouting his name, echoing as if he were calling out from the depths of a cavern.

He welcomed the fainting spell, if he was being honest. Anything would be less painful than this. _Anything _that would numb the sick, morbid realization that was taunting him without mercy, stuck on repeat at the forefront of his mind.

_My mother killed herself. _

* * *

**A/N:**_ So, I always kind of assumed that this is what we will find out in Season 4, based on the fact that the writers are saying it's a very dark realization for Toby regarding his mother. And I always kind of pictured that this is how she died. _

_Please, please, PLEASE do not hesitate to contact me if you are having issues dealing with this. I do not want to trigger anybody in any way. _

_I love all of you!_


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N:** Hi y'all - Sorry it's a bit shorter than the last one. But I wanted to attempt to get it up relatively on time today. _

_A few things: _

_1. Someone asked me to clarify if I had written about Toby's mom committing suicide in another story. The answer is yes - I have explored it a few times in a few different works. In all of the others, however, he was entirely aware of how she died. I thought for this one, though, it would be interesting to explore the possibility that everyone kept it a secret from him. It felt like a darker way to approach it, and I wanted to try something a little different. _

_2. Someone asked if I plan to include Mike. I haven't necessarily considered putting Mike in the story, but if I find an opportunity to use him, I will :-) _

_3. Someone asked about Spoby kisses - Spoby will get more romantic moments very shortly, but I'm trying to take my time with them and approach it in a realistic way. They're still getting past everything that happened last season, and I'd like to make it as authentic as possible. _

_4. Did everyone see the picture that was released on Tumblr of Toby and Caleb filming a scene? They're working on a laptop in the photo, and I got SO excited. It may sound silly, but it's a wonderful feeling to see that part of my story will be coming to life this season. _

_Look for the A/N down below for further information about this chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

**EVERYTHING'S MADE TO BE BROKEN**

**CHAPTER 8**

His walk up the steps and into the building had become a routine. It was part of his dysfunctional daily life now, and felt no more abnormal than any other commonplace task. It was like brushing his teeth before bed, or doing his homework at his father's desk. It was interwoven into his everyday pattern.

The receptionist at the front desk was the same lady who had been on shift last week when he had come in. She regarded him with a warm smile.

"Hey, buddy," the dark-skinned man next to her said kindly, leaning over the counter to survey the young boy with a grin. "It's nice to see a familiar face today. How's school going?"

"It's okay," Toby answered cryptically, knowing that the actual answer was far too involved to say aloud. Truth be told, the past week at Rosewood Junior High had been something of a nightmare. Alison DiLaurentis had called attention to his family situation in the middle of Language Arts, broadcasting what had been, up until then, a safe-guarded secret. He didn't have a clue as to how she always found these things out, or why she chose the most inopportune times to announce them. As a result, he had spent the last few days dodging the crowds of popular kids and hopelessly deflecting their cruel jabs, struggling just to get through the day without crying in front of his classmates.

The orderly peered at him from beneath his dark lashes as he handed him a visitor's pass, his eyes sympathetic. It was as though he had read his mind. Or maybe his pain was just that transparent.

"I know times are tough," he said quietly. "But everything is going to turn out in the end."

The words were simple, but they were sufficient to lift Toby's spirit in slight.

"She's been asking about you all day," the man continued, leading Toby in the direction of the day room. "She'll be very excited to see you."

Toby followed his guidance, though he knew the journey by heart. Radley had come to feel like more like home lately than his own bedroom, a sobering realization that was short-lived in his twelve-year old mind. There was very little room for such heavy topics at this age, what with his distant wonderings about the new _Harry Potter_ film and the new set of Pokémon cards he planned to purchase on his walk home today.

His eyes immediately landed on his mother, who was seated at the piano. Her long, slender fingers worked diligently at the keys to produce some random Beethoven tune that she had memorized, her sapphire eyes trained on the pearly white and onyx rectangles that lay before her.

"Marion, your son is here to see you."

Only then did she glance up, and Toby saw that the dark circles that cradled her bottom lashes were much more prominent today than they had been last week. Her gaze fell upon him and she offered a half-hearted smile that did not look quite as vibrant as she had likely intended.

"Hi, sweetie," she said raspily. Her voice sounded tired.

"I'll be right back with your dinner pills," the orderly stated quietly, clapping a supportive hand on Toby's shoulder. He made his way to depart in order to allow them privacy.

"Thanks, Eddie," Toby's mother called quietly after him, and he wondered vaguely if the nice Black man had even heard it.

She turned to face him again, scooting down the length of the piano bench and patting the empty space beside her. He silently climbed onto the seat with her, his hands immediately finding their High C positions on the ivory in front of him.

Without a word, she had already begun to gently play out a tune with one hand, which he quickly mimicked in the upper register.

They didn't speak much these days. In fact, they hadn't spoken much since she had started to get sick. It was as though he didn't know what questions were appropriate to ask, and she, similarly, did not know which answers were appropriate to share. So instead they often communicated through music, quietly appreciating the other's company.

She moved closer to him and wrapped one arm around his tiny frame. She was steadying his hands over the middle keys now, gingerly pressing his fingers down with her own to feel out a melody.

"Something I'm working on," she whispered in his ear, her nose tickling at his temple. He liked when she got close like this. He could properly appreciate her natural floral scent this way and guiltlessly remember her rocking him to sleep as a toddler. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him that these memories carried a grave, searing pain with them – but on the surface, he could think of nothing that comforted him more.

"I like it," he answered softly.

Once the final measure had finished, her grip went slack, and she merely sat there holding him. Instinctively, his head dropped into the crook of her neck. They stayed that way for some time. These moments were precious, and he carried them with him long after he had returned to his house and climbed into bed.

"When are you coming home?" he asked after a beat, unable to stop himself.

She did not reply right away. Instead, she lifted one hand to smooth his hair away from his eyes, combing a gentle rhythm against his scalp.

"I don't know, baby," she murmured.

He slid gingerly away from her to get a good look at her face, and was alarmed to see that moisture had begun to collect at the bases of her eyes. "But I miss you."

A strange sound disrupted the moment. It was like someone was hollering down the hall, and the voice was rumbling somewhere deep in his veins. He looked back at his mom, whose expression was somber.

"Toby," she said sharply, her voice mutating from its dulcet rasp into a much stronger baritone. "Toby, wake up."

The dull drone of the other patients talking around them began to melt away, like turning the volume down on a television notch by notch. The room was contorting, furniture shape shifting into unrecognizably meaningless blobs.

It suddenly felt as though somebody had looped a hook through his navel and was trying to drag him away from her. His arms shot out in desperation, clinging to her wrists.

"Mom..."

"Toby, focus," she growled, the inexplicably deep tone contradicting the gentle but exhausted expression on her face. "It's going to be all right."

He shook his head fervently, feeling the intrusion of hot tears as they cascaded down his cheeks. "Mommy, please…"

"Toby! Snap out of it!"

His head whipped to one side, a sharp stinging sensation piercing the curve of his jaw like a thousand needles. Its source was undeterminable, for his mother had not budged from her seat. Horrified and perplexed, he watched as her figure began to blur and fade from his view, the image whirling away into some invisible vortex.

"Mommy!" he cried, but his voice merely echoed across the expanse of white nothingness. He was pulled abruptly backwards with such vigor that his insides clanged together unpleasantly and his body froze with whiplash. He could not feel anything – not his limbs, not his face, not even his own heart that he knew must be beating wildly in his chest. He closed his eyes to forego the impending dizziness that swirled around his head, the spatial existence of his own figure becoming indiscernible from the void around him.

And then suddenly, the numbness was replaced by an agonizing ache in his back, and he could feel that his feverish face was pressed against a cold surface. Like bathroom tile. His exposed cheek was burning with the threat of a burgeoning welt, and he wondered distantly where the hell it had come from.

The deep voice spoke once more, this time punctuating the air around him with perfect clarity. "Open your eyes man, c'mon."

Before he could even consider whether this was something he actually wanted to do, he was already obeying. A cavalcade of bright, dancing circles paraded immediately through his field of view, unperturbed by the suffocating darkness that surrounded his thoughts. A face swam into view, its features distorted by the blinding whiteness of the light on the ceiling above him. He pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, and his focus began to slowly return.

It took a moment to orient himself. He was on the bathroom floor. In his loft. And Caleb Rivers was gazing down at him with the sort of expression that implied he'd grown three heads while unconscious.

"Toby," the boy breathed, relief evident in his tone. "Thank God. Are you all right? What happened?"

"I'm fine," he muttered, bracing his elbows on the floor to hoist himself upward. The disorientation that ensued made his head throb like it was hosting a rock concert, and he was suddenly quite aware of the thick sweat that was causing his shirt to cling to his back like a second skin. His stance faltered a bit, but Caleb quickly repositioned himself to stabilize Toby at the shoulders.

"Easy, man. Don't rush yourself."

Caleb assisted him into a full sitting position, leaning him gently against the wall. Once situated, Toby released a deep, ragged breath, his nostrils flaring unpleasantly at the scent of his own vomit. With a trembling hand, he brought his fingertips to gingerly brush the sore part of his cheek. It stung on contact.

"Did you slap me?" he demanded, more roughly than intended.

Caleb looked sheepishly at the ground for a moment before returning his dark eyes to meet Toby's gaze.

"I didn't know what to do," he murmured simply.

He wanted to make a joke to lighten the mood, but nothing about the situation felt funny in the slightest.

"How long was I out?" he asked.

Caleb offered a short shake of his head. "Officially? Minute and a half, maybe. But…I mean…you were sorta on your way out when I got here. I – I don't know how long you were sitting here by yourself."

The state he was in before Caleb's arrival was already turning into something of a blur, but he remembered enough to know precisely how he'd gotten here.

"Not long," he offered flatly. The dull ache of his muscles notified him that the feeling in his limbs had almost entirely returned, so he began to pull himself slowly off the floor. Caleb quickly followed his motions like a mime in a mirror, taking his time to stand, paying close attention to Toby's movements in preparation to catch him if he wavered. He made it to his feet with a considerable amount of effort, though his head felt like it was three sizes too big.

"Can you make it?" Caleb sputtered.

He nodded resolutely, his eyes flickering to the contents of the toilet beside him.

"That's disgusting," he said, more to himself than his guest. He quickly slammed the lid closed and pressed the flush lever.

Caleb did not reply. Toby could clearly see out of his peripheral vision that the younger was perplexed – stunned even – by his casual demeanor, mind racing at a million miles a minute about what could have possibly transpired before his entrance.

Without a second glance, Toby was making his way out of the bathroom. Caleb followed abruptly on his heels, the new movement sufficient to shake him from his prior state of shell shock.

"Dude, what is going on? What happened?"

"Stomach flu," Toby answered as he bee lined for the bedroom, the lie coming out with far more ease than he had anticipated.

"That wasn't a stomach flu," Caleb argued, his usual assertiveness bleeding slowly back into his tone. "You looked like you'd seen a ghost."

The twisted accuracy of this statement stung more sharply than his cheek, but he rapidly dismissed it as he climbed into bed.

"Toby…"

"I need to rest," he interrupted, purposely turning away from Caleb's scrutinizing stare.

There was a pregnant pause in which neither of them spoke. Toby could feel the energy of Caleb's presence, taking up space and thickening the air all around them.

Then, at long last, the younger released a tired sigh. "Do you need anything?"

Water would have been nice. The taste of bile in his mouth was not preferred. But his mind was racing with far more important thoughts than anything his physical body required.

"No. Thanks."

Under any other circumstances, he may have been more vigilant of how he was treating him. Would have made more of an effort to truly offer his gratitude. The boy had just watched him faint, for Christ's sake. He deserved something that resembled a legitimate explanation.

But the energy simply wasn't there. It, like the glass of water, was a low priority on the list of things he was dealing with.

There was another bout of silence. This time, however, Caleb took the hint quite quickly. Toby could hear his footsteps shuffling out the room, the door clicking quietly shut behind him.

He was alone once more.

But for as badly as he had thought he wanted Caleb to cease and desist, the sudden solitude began to settle upon him like a vacuum, suffocating him with the bindings of his own loneliness.

* * *

"I hate P.E.," Hanna grumbled despondently as she rifled through her locker, pushing books aside to make room for the ones in her arms. "If I wanted to sweat in front of a bunch of girls, I'd just go back to that lesbian bar." She turned to face Emily, a half-hearted grimace on her features. "No offense."

Emily shrugged nonchalantly, unruffled. Her eyes were, instead, trained down the length of the hallway in the direction of the returning English teacher.

"Do you think it's weird having Ezra back here, now that we kinda know him as a person?" she mused, furrowing her brow.

Spencer leaned back against the locker beside Hanna's, following Emily's gaze. "Super weird," she agreed. "Probably more so for you, though. I mean, he tutored you after all."

"Speaking of the Fitzinator being back in the halls of Rosewood, has Aria gotten the balls to talk to him yet?" Hanna asked.

"I dunno, but she seemed pretty cozy with Jason last night," said Emily, a tiny smile teasing her lips.

"I ship it," Hanna agreed, shutting her locker with a definitive '_clang_.' The three girls began to slowly meander in the general direction of their classes.

"Ship it?" Spencer ventured, an eyebrow quirking into her forehead.

"It's Internet slang," Hanna said impatiently. "If you actually read my blog, you'd know."

Spencer exchanged a knowing look with Emily, who merely shook her head in playful irritation.

"Speaking of Jason," Spencer began thoughtfully, "I'm meeting him after school to finish our talk. I didn't really have time this morning to grill him about Ali and – well, you know." She lowered her voice several decibels, peering over her shoulder to ensure that Mona was not creeping up behind her. "In any case, hopefully I can get some answers about – "

She was cut short by a near-collision with Aria, who had just come barreling around the corner.

"Hey, there you are," Hanna began.

"Does anyone know where Caleb is?" Aria asked worriedly, impatiently pushing a strand of hair from her face.

Hanna's smile was instantaneously replaced with an anxious expression, her cobalt eyes crinkling in confusion.

"I mean, I know he said he was running home for his free period…"

Aria shook her head fervently. "He wasn't back for math."

Hanna's shoulders drooped dejectedly, and she released a heavy sigh as she dug through her purse to locate her phone. "I swear to God, if he's not laying in a gutter somewhere, I'm going to kill him."

Before she could even finish rummaging through her gigantic handbag, Emily's phone began buzzing in her back pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID.

"He's calling me," she murmured, perplexed.

Hanna held one hand out to Emily, the other perching impatiently on her hip. "Let me talk to him."

The swimmer did as told, pursing her lips together and chancing a glance at Spencer from the corners of her eyes.

"Hey, where are you?" Hanna demanded in a stage whisper, the movements of her head so dramatic that her lavish hoop earrings were swinging around her face. There was a beat. "No, Aria said you weren't in math and – _don't you interrupt me_!"

"It's like they're married already," Aria said with a roll of her eyes.

As Hanna listened further, she recoiled a bit, her expression melting into something that resembled hurt. Then, without another word to her boyfriend, she handed the phone back to its original owner. There was a steely look in her eyes. "He wants you."

Spencer glanced at Emily, who was guiltily raising her cell up to her ear. "Hello?"

There was a pause. And then, Emily inhaled sharply.

"I'll be right there." She hung up quickly and stuffed her phone back in her pocket, adjusting her shoulder bag anxiously as she made to depart. "I – I have to go."

"What's the matter?" Hanna asked flatly, her face still a blanket of poorly suppressed resentment.

Emily regarded her for a moment, her mouth tightening into a thin line of determination. "It's not my place to say," she said apologetically, backing away. "I – I'm sorry."

The three of them watched her go, stumped by the necessity of her sudden exit. Spencer turned back to Hanna, who looked as though she were about to cry. She seemed to sense that she was being studied, for she released a powerful sigh and plastered a faux, half-hearted smile on her face.

"Did I mention how much I hate P.E.?"

* * *

_**A/N: ** Okay, so parts of this chapter were really difficult to write. Like the memory/dream sequence. I tried to approach it from a twelve-year old's perspective, and hopefully I did all right in that regard. _

_As far as the time frame goes - here is my logic: _

_Alison disappeared the summer before their sophomore year of high school (they had her funeral a year later, right at the start of their junior year). The Halloween episode, "The First Secret", took place the Halloween before she disappeared. So they'd be freshmen. In that episode, Toby told Emily that his mother had passed away a year prior. So he would have been, if he's a year older, a freshman himself at the time. I'm looking at the entire thing like his mother had been sick and suffering for a few years before she killed herself, so that's why I chose the age of 12 for the memory. _

_Whew. Okay. I think that's it for now!_

_Please review! The last chapter didn't get many, and it made me sad._


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